


...To Serve The Light

by skywardseanna17



Category: Assassin's Creed, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Assassin Dean, Assassin John, Assassin Kevin Tran, Assassin Sam, Assassin's Creed AU, Assassin's Creed II, Destiel - Freeform, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, I have written a strange AU, M/M, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Templar Castiel, Templar Gabriel, i am sorry this burn is so slow, i like it tho idk, not very graphic so you should be fine tbh but just in case, the suicide attempt is in chapter ten, very slow burn, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-21 00:24:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 121,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3670620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywardseanna17/pseuds/skywardseanna17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean Vincense have been raised from infancy into the order of Assassins, an ancient brotherhood that fights for freedom and justice from the shadows. Their sworn enemies: the Knights Templar, who battle the brotherhood throughout history for control over their world and their future. The two groups seek the truth about the progenitors of the human species, the First Civilization, whose technology the Templars hope to use to further their goal of control of the human race. It is the task of the Assassins, and now Sam and Dean, to stop them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Work In The Dark...

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Yo! So this idea came from a night of light drinking and crying over supernatural (i mean, all the best ideas do tbh) 
> 
> If you guys have suggestions, comments, ideas, things you really liked or really hated, I would totes appreciate a comment or kudos if you're lazy. Feedback is the bomb, and if shits not working out ill try and fix it. This whole thing is sorta a weird brainmeld of things, so if you think of a character or scenario that would be really cool from spn as an assassin or templar or some other shit, TELL ME!
> 
> I'll try and update regularly but god i am not a functional person. 
> 
> be my internet friend at sean-hopes-it-snows.tumblr.com

Florence, 1504

 

Dawn hadn’t yet broken over the hills east of Florence, and the assassin was thankful for the added cover of darkness. The ochre bricks of the buildings in this particular slum by the river were normally coated in grime, blood and who knew what else; not being able to see them was a blessing. The stench of the river assaulted him, mixed with the odor of the bars in the area, ones frequented by the prostitutes and thieves that made up the assassin’s normal network of informants.

The streets were empty, save for a trio of dozing whores in the alley across from him. He watched a tall, hooded figure approach the prostitutes, saw him touch one lightly on the shoulder. She caught the figure’s hand, pulling his body down to reach her own. The two kissed, the figure’s head blocked the assassin’s vision of the prostitute’s lips. He turned, trying to get a better look. The assassin had been taught lip reading from an early age, one of many skills, and knew that what was being exchanged across the street from him was not only saliva. The figure straightened up, smiled and thanked the whore, and swiftly crossed the street, grinning at the waiting assassin.

“Jealous much?” The hooded figure asked. The assassin punched him lightly in the arm, shooting the drowsy prostitutes a gleaming smile of his own. The girls waved to him, and he pulled the hooded figure down the alleyway.

“Jealous, of you, brother? They only go for you because you stand next to me to me anyway.” The assassin grinned, adding, “And I happen to know that Christina there had a cough last week that she may or may not have gotten over.” The hooded figure gulped, suddenly looking worried.

“You don’t think she has the plague or something, do you? I don’t know if I can handle another round of that, Deangelo.”

The assassin halted him before they turned the corner onto the main road and out of the damp alley.

“No names on the job, Samuele,” The assassin said, annoyed at his brother’s use of his full name.

The only person who ever called him Deangelo was Sam (and sometimes his Uncle Roberti when he really botched a job), and Sam only ever did that when he wanted to get under his brother’s skin. He had violently refused to go by Angelo from an early age so he chose instead to go by Dean, something his mother hadn’t been too pleased with. It doesn’t even sound Italian! You sound like some highland barbarian, Dean, she had said, ruffling his hair. Besides, everyone knew that angels weren’t real, even if the Assassin’s used to refer to their father, the master Assassin Jon Vincense who fought in the brotherhood of the legendary Ezio Auditore, as the “Angel of Death”.

The two brothers waited for a passing guard patrol to move on before slipping around the corner. Their mission was a routine one in it’s execution; it didn’t require bloodshed, much to Dean’s chagrin. Killing was what the boys were good at, and he couldn’t help but feel that their talents were wasted on simple “break and enter” missions, no matter how important their uncle thought the task. 

Roberti had directed the boys to steal a ledger from a library of all places. Dean remembered his Uncle pacing his study three days ago, leaning against his desk and directing his gaze between Sam’s concerned eyes and Dean’s emotionless expression.

“This ledger is of the utmost importance to the Brotherhood, you two, and if I could, I would go and get it myself. I cannot stress just how crucial this ledger is to our operation,” He had handed them each a roll of parchment with coded directions. “You have your orders.”

“Why?” Sam had asked flatly.

“Why what, boy?” Roberti had asked. He went around his desk, and proceeded to pour himself a glass of wine from one of the many bottles he had stashed around Monterriggioni. 

“Why is this ledger so important?” Sam asked. He looked at Dean for backup. “I think we have a right to know…” Sam trailed off, and Dean nodded to Sam, then inclined his head towards his uncle.

“Robi, we know it isn’t the place of the apprentices to question the master,” Dean said, smiling when Roberti grunted and sipped his wine. “But if this ledger is as important as you say it is, wouldn’t it be better for us to know as much about it as we can?”

Their uncle nodded thoughtfully, and passed his wine to Dean.

“All I can really tell you is that if it falls into the hands of the Templars, the work of centuries will be undone.” Roberti said quietly. “I would tell you more if I could, but that will have to suffice for now.”

 

Sam snapped his fingers in front of Dean’s face, bringing him back to the present. They were in the piazza outside the Laurentian Library, which wouldn’t remain empty for much longer. The sun was beginning to color the red tiles of the Florentine rooftops.

“You wanna take up or down?” Sam asked, patting Dean on the back and pulling his older brother’s hood down over his face. Dean shrugged him off, checking his inventory of smoke bombs, darts, and noisemakers. He handed Sam a few darts, knowing that his brother would have forgotten to reload his stash before leaving the inn that morning.

“I’ll take the roofs this time. Try for that.” Dean said, indicating a grate set in the street near the gate. Sam nodded, and the two brothers melted into the night. Dean climbed up the side of the church adjacent to the library, looking over his shoulder just in time to see Sam slip beneath the streets of the piazza. Dean nodded, swallowing the icy shard of fear that always formed when his brother was in danger. Which was almost constantly.

 

  
“Please, please, she won’t do it again, I promise! She is but a child, and doesn’t know better,” The man clung to his daughter, whose muddy hands were wrapped around his neck. She buried her face in his soldier and trembled. Three of the Florentine Guard, the local law enforcement, surrounded them, one still scraping the muck out of his beard.

“You know, attacking a soldier of Firenze is a criminal offense, right, little girl?” the one with the muck in his beard said quietly, a bright smile splitting his lips wide to reveal gleaming white teeth. He leered at the girl, jerking his chin forward. His two companions grabbed one of the father’s arms, and their leader yanked at the girl’s hair violently. Her father swore at them, clinging to his sobbing daughter. 

Suddenly the man’s arms were free, the soldiers behind him gone. A dark shape from behind the father reached for the leader’s neck at a superhuman speed, and then all three soldiers lay in the street. Blood pooled from the throats of the choking men, and then they were silent. The hooded figure between the soldier’s corpses and the family held his hands out in front of him, to show that he meant no harm. The father clutched his daughter with tears in his eyes.

“What…who…how can I ever…” the father stuttered. 

The hooded figure shook his head.

“Tell no one what you saw here, and go back inside, lock the door. Forget that this happened.” He then bowed, saying gruffly to the girl, “And next time you get them, make sure you’re out of sight before they turn around.” 

The girl nodded, wiping her tears with her ragged sleeve.

The hooded figure ran past them, up the wall of the building behind them, and was swallowed by the darkness of the moonless night.

 

Sam flipped the loose wooden panel over, crawling out into the Library’s cellar. He rolled his shoulders, feeling his vertebrae pop back into place. Dean should have been the one doing the sewer runs, since Sam had to duck to avoid brushing his long hair on the low ceilings. It hadn’t been a problem up until a couple of years ago, when Sam had shot up to tower a couple of inches above his older brother. Dean still resented that, and while Sam did enjoy how much it bothered Dean, it felt…weird. Sam had always been the little one, and being little had lots of benefits. It meant being able to disappear in dim shadows, to slip out of the night watch’s grip when they did catch him. So far all Sam’s height had been good for was brushing against sewer ceilings, and the opportunity to put Dean in a headlock for a change.

Sam made his way up the wooden stairs, leaning against the curtain separating the cellar from the rest of the archives of the library. He paused, listening for a hint of movement: the swish of fabric-on-fabric, of padded foot on marble. Hearing nothing, he pushed aside the curtain. The chamber was dark, but by the air currents, Sam could tell that the room wasn’t very big. He passed through quietly, emerging behind a massive stack of books in the main library.

Looks like someone forgot to restock these, Sam thought, running a gloved hand over one of the leather-bound novels. He had loved reading from an early age, a skill his father thought necessary for an Assassin in training. Dean had often resented reading classical Latin, claiming that the language was dead anyway, but Sam’s code-breaking skills had proved how useful a broad education was. Especially to trained killers.

Sam looked at the light beginning to filter through the foggy glass windows. What the fuck was taking Dean so long? Sam walked through the stacks, past armchairs and fireplaces, low tables and rich red tapestries. After a few minutes of pacing and flipping through books, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, activating his eagle senses. His eyes opened, sucking the world around him in. Shades of blue, red and gold. He could hear the buzzing of all the atoms around him, and fought down a surge of nausea.

 

\----  
When his father and the other senior assassins had first tested the brothers for the ability, the experience nearly killed Sam. It was a sixth sense, one that every human possessed, but legend said it was strongest only in certain bloodlines. The test for the gene was simple: all the elder assassins had done was present the boys with two knives. “One whetted with the blood of an innocent man, one clean of any such blessing,” one of the elders had proclaimed, pulling two wrist blades from his robes. The elder had held them high, showing the boy assassins the identical looking blades. Their father had grinned at the boys from across the courtyard of Monterrigionni, utter faith that his sons carried the same gene that helped earn him the title of master assassin.

“Now, to focus this sense, the eagle’s gaze of the great assassins before you, leaders like Altair Ibn-La’Ahad of old, and our current Mentor, Ezio Auditore—you need to focus on intention, on what it is that you need to find. In this instance it is a murder weapon, but it could be a witness, some evidence, even a landmark. Intention, knowing what you want, and what is needed of you, that is half the battle. Channel intention through your sight.”

Sam had closed his eyes, emptying his mind of any thought but on the blades in front of him, no not blades, just the blade, singular. The one that had tasted blood. He could hear Dean’s labored breathing beside him, could almost feel his brother physically trying to focus his thoughts. But Sam pushed that away too, leaving only the thing that he was looking for: blood.

Sam opened his eyes and fell to his knees. He could feel the universe moving around him, every base particle in the courtyard, in the assassins, his brother, in himself, and then the world, the worlds outside the world, all spiraling around the sun, (not in perfect circles, actually) wobbling around in the darkness that was also humming, alive in a way that could not be known. All this Sam saw, and across from his body he say the two blades, both glowing golden amidst the blue cosmos. Sam gasped and his vision refocused. The blades were no longer glowing, and Dean was staring at him open-mouthed.

“Sammy…?” Dean said. 

“Alright, boys, which blade?” One of the elders called. “Deangelo, what say you?” 

Dean stared at his father, sudden composure masking any fear.

“The blade on the left is anointed with innocent blood.”

“Samuele? Is your answer the same as your elder brother’s?”

Sam looked at the waiting elders, then back to Dean. He shook his head, and saw the confidence flee Dean’s body. “Both. They were both used to kill innocent men,” Sam said quietly. Their father looked at Sam, then at Dean, astonished.

“That’s correct, Sam.”

“But that’s not fair!” Dean had shouted. “It was a trick question. You said it was one of the blades or the other, not to even consider the possibility of both blades being bloodied!” Their father raised a hand, stopping Dean.

“This was not a test of merit, Dean. Just because Sam possesses innate eagle sense doesn’t mean that you cannot develop your own senses, including eagle vision. You will just have to work harder at it, son.” Dean bit his lip, turning to look at Sam. It was the first time Dean had ever felt jealous of his younger brother, and Sam had never before seen so much envy in Dean’s eyes as he did in that courtyard.

 

\----

Sam had been honing his eagle vision ever since, and tuning in to his sixth sense was rarely as overwhelming as it had been that first time. But in a space filled with so many words, intentions, and artifacts all in one place, his eagle sense became more blurry. 

The ledger, the ledger, Sam thought to himself, willing the thing into being before him, and in turn willing himself towards it. 

There.

A strong golden glow coming from the southern wing of the Library. Sam let his eagle vision fade, making his way towards the source of the glow. Sam heard a soft thud beside him and turned, his hidden blade sliding out of its wrist sheath.

“Cazzo,” Sam heard. He laughed softly, catching sight of his brother’s shadowed form atop the bookshelf next to him. He turned his wrist, sheathing his blade.

“What took you so long, idiot?” Sam asked. Dean continued along the bookshelves next to his brother, loping easily along the . “I thought you were supposed to be good at climbing, Dean,” Dean snorted.

“I just got a little held up in the courtyard. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Sam stopped at a bookshelf, pawing through a few tomes before pulling one out. Dean dropped off the bookshelf, landing easily beside his brother.

“How many bodies?” Sam asked flatly.

“Um, like one or two, I don’t remember,” Dean, said, examining the ledger Sam handed him. “And you’re sure this is it?”

Sam nodded. “I Saw it, ‘capital s’ Saw, you know? It’s what Robi said it was, so let’s move. And that better have been worth it, whatever it was. This is serious shit, Dean. Normally, I wouldn’t say anything, but this could help us step ahead of the Templars. Nothing should come before that.” Dean shook his head slightly.

“Even innocent lives?” Dean asked. Sam looked away from Dean, lengthening his stride. 

“Come on, jerk.” Sam said.

“Bitch.” 

By this point, the sun had risen, and good scholars of Firenze were trickling through the front doors. The two assassins flowed between the patrons of the arts with bowed heads, emerging into the already sun-backed piazza.

“Alright then, back to the inn?” Dean asked. Sam smiled, flipping his hood up. Then Dean felt a painful jab in his arm, and he was surrounded. Sam’s brown eyes filled with fear.

“Go, Sammy! I’ll be fine,” Dean yelled, flicking his wrists and sliding out his hidden blades. He stabbed at the soldiers around him, gutting the ones that moved for Sam. But his strength was fading—whatever they had stuck him with as powerful. City watch is getting better, he thought, before falling forward, tripping over the mound of bodies in front of him. His vision went red, and the murmur of the city enveloped him.


	2. The Rack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's been captured by the Florentine Guard, Sam is fleeing Florence with the mysterious Ledger. That's it.

Sam ducked around a trio of startled priests, letting the squadron of Florentine guards be stopped by the aggravated Holy Men. 

“...And on our way to morning Mass! Is nothing sacred in this city anymore, even the divine? We will be praying that you soldiers get to heaven very soon, young men, soon indeed…” 

One of the priests thumbed a rosary, berating the guards as Sam disappeared around a corner, the tail of his assassin’s cloak the last bit of him that the guard captain saw. Sam grinned, and whispered a quick prayer of thanks. Most of the assassin’s weren’t very religious, but Sam knew what gods to thank when. That, and his mother had raised them catholic. She used to take them to the most beautiful churches in Firenze, (her favorite was a small church in the countryside: she found the Duomo too garish) and made sure Sam and Dean got down on their knees each night and said their prayers to their guardian angels. Those angels looked after Sam and Dean well enough, but Sam guessed that their mother hadn’t prayed hard enough to keep herself from the business end of a templar’s blade. 

Sam blended in with the crowds, making his way back to the Piazza. He had no doubt  
that Dean had gotten away from the guards; after all, they were just common soldiers. They  
chewed through the law easily; evading them was normally easy. Sam still had no idea how  
the guards knew to wait for them outside the library...perhaps they wanted the ledger as well?  
Normally the police force stayed out of the fight between the Brotherhood and the Templars,  
content to collect the bribes both factions would provide to keep the night watches looking the  
other way, but there were rumours that the new captain of the Medici guard had noble  
aspirations. Sam thought he heard his Uncle Robi discussing a Captain Crowli with his wife,  
Ellen.

The piazza was beginning to fill with eager churchgoers, scholars, merchants, and  
paupers, the babble of conversation doing nothing to drown out the ringing in Sam’s ears. He took a deep breath, thought, Dean, and drew on his sixth sense. He nearly fell into an old woman, who cursed him and spit on his shoes. 

“Mi dispiace,” Sam murmured, clutching his head. Everything around him seemed to glow a dull blue, with the few normal guards appearing red-tinged, matching their ruby uniforms. But nowhere did he see the glowing body of his brother, or any sign of him. Sam walked by the library along with a laughing group of scholars, his eagle vision forcing him to walk slowly. Don’t pass out, don’t throw up, one foot, another…there, on the ground in front of Sam, glowed three golden blotches on the pavement. He touched the his brother’s drying blood and allowed the tiniest thread of panic into his mind.  
Brother, where have they taken you?

 

\--------

 

Dean could hear water. Not a lot of water, not like a river or anything like that. But a slow steady, pressurized drip. The flow of the water was uneven, sometimes it was just a drop, once every half minute. Other times it was a long, steady stream, that nearly lulled him to sleep. Nine thousand seven hundred and forty-two drops of water after Dean started counting them, he heard the door to the torture chamber open.  
“Maybe now you’ll be more susceptible to our questioning, after you’ve had such a  
long time to see things differently,” the man called at Dean. Dean nodded indicating his blindfold with one of his unbroken fingers. 

“Good one, amigo”

“I have some demands of my own, you pigsticker,” Dean said, his voice rasping. His body jerked off of the wooden rack his limbs were tied to, and he felt his hair fall forward off his face. Being held at a forty-five degree angle was not something that Dean recommended. 

“If you want any information from me, you’re going to need to get me, ahm, let’s see,  
a dozen of those meat pies from the bar down on the river, you know, near the stables, and I want um…” Dean could hear the interrogator sharpening something, some sort of blade different from the three other kinds of pointy thing he had been sticking in dean for the last couple of hours. All assassins were trained to withstand vigorous torture, and techniques to go all sepuku in case they got close to spilling anything. But Dean was confident it wouldn’t get that bad, this guy was a rube.  
“Uh, and I want, um, all the alcohol you have in the building, wherever we are, and I’m assuming we’re in the secondary basement, of, eh…well, I’ll just keep that to myself, but I definitely want your booze...Oh! And my favorite dancer at the Rosa in Fiore, you know that whorehouse in Roma? Last year, I went there, and the most beautiful putana...I think her name was Giovanna, could you maybe get her for me?” 

“I will give you this, my friend,” the interrogator said, “You’ve got cogliones for days,  
but that won’t last very long. I’ve got a pretty good track record.” 

Dean smiled at the torturer.“So then, my friend, in order, meat pies, all the alcohol in this manor, and, Giovanna the whore. Then we will talk.” 

He felt the blade sink into his already damaged flesh, opening wounds that had just  
recently stopped bleeding. Dean sucked in the putrid air of the torture chamber through clenched teeth. 

“Where,” The interrogator asked, opening another cut along Dean’s side. He saw red, and his fingers spasmed, grabbing at nothing.

“Is,” This time, he made a new cut, just above the lateral slice in his side. Short, but deep, blood drained out of the gash, passing through the older wound sluggishly.  
Dean growled, kicking against the torture rack.

“the LEDGER!” The torturer buried the knife in Dean’s thigh, twisting and dragging it down. Dean cried out, spitting in the torturer’s face.

“Figlio di putana, the only thing you will get out of me is piss.”

The door opened again, and the torturer swiftly turned away from Dean and towards  
the intruder. 

“Captain Crowli, sir,” the interrogator said, stepping out of the way of the captain. Dean lifted his head. He would not bow to this man, intense pain or not. 

“Go have yourself a cup of something, Alistair,” the captain said, patting the torturer’s blood-spattered shoulder. “I’d like to have a word with the signore here.”  
Dean heard Alistair drop his blade amongst the rest of his tools and shuffle towards the door. 

“Don’t miss me too much, love,” Dean called after him, kissing the air. “I’ll wait for you forever. And don’t forget the meat pies!” The door slammed shut, leaving Dean and the Captain alone.

“It is so hard to find good help these days, isn’t it, Dean?” Crowli said. Dean kept his smile glued to his face. They knew who he was. 

“I heard the gypsies have had a breeding problem with their monkeys lately. Perhaps they’d let you borrow a few. Might be a bit better at the job than your current employees.” Dean said, licking the blood off of his lower lip. Crowli laughed, the laugh of a logical man. Logical men could be reasoned with. Dean could work with this.

“I’d recommend the same to the assassins. Some of your trainees are getting sloppy.  
Almost caught this blonde the other day, but she managed to wriggle away. One of your friends, perhaps?” Crowli asked, his footsteps headed towards the wooden slab covered in “interrogation implements” on the east side of the room.

Dean knew which assassin the Captain was referring to: his cousin Joanna, his Uncle Robi’s stepdaughter. Her father had been an assassin too, had died on a mission with Sam and Dean’s father years ago. They had a dead dad in common now, Dean had told her at his father’s funeral. She had smacked him. He didn’t blame her.  
Dean shrugged at Crowli.

“Not one I’ve ever heard of. Don’t get too many blondes in this part of Italia, do we now? Was she pretty? I’ll have to hunt her down myself once I get out of here.” Dean said.

Crowli laughed again. Dean’s smile didn’t waver.

“Thinking long term, are we, messer Vincese? That’s good. I admire that in you. You’ve  
got a lot of promise, for an assassin, you know. We could use you in the guard. Within, oh three years of being a foot soldier or night watchman, you could even be in a position of power! Lieutenant or something, I don’t really care. But I’m making you an offer.” Crowli was going through the bottles of poisons and elixirs Alistair had assembled on the table. 

“And I won’t ask again. Tell us everything you know about the ledger, about the Knights Templar, the Order of Assassins. Everything, and you can walk. Well, if you can walk.” A baton slammed into Dean’s shin--he hadn’t been prepared for that. 

“Sorry, my hand must have slipped.” Crowli whispered. 

“You can go to hell,” Dean spat at where he thought the guard captain was standing. 

Crowli laughed again, this time it sounded less like the laugh of a sane man. He strode over to the torture rack, grabbed Dean’s hair and growled into his ear.  
“You and me both boy, we’re already in it,” 

\----

Sam galloped away from Firenze, touching the ledger through in his pocket every few minutes to make sure it was still there. After all, Dean had probably died for the thing. Might as well make sure it got back to Monteriggioni safely. Sam’s eyes stung, and not from the wind. He spurred Pallas along, burying his hands in his horse’s tan mane. Dean’s black mare, Imp, was trotting along behind Sam’s gelding Pallas. Normally Imp would be leading Pallas when the the sibling horses ran together. Dean was always racing Sam back to the assassin’s headquarters, his horse eager to run, to release the tension of being tied to a post for a day or two. Pallas was much more temperate than his sister, and Sam and Dean’s father Jon had often said that the two horse’s behaved much like their owners.  
Sam approached the gates to the town, and gave a high whistle. Two trainees quickly  
moved to open the gates for one of the legendary brothers. The trainees bowed to Sam, their cowls blocking their faces. Sam slid out of the saddle, handing the reins to one of the apprentices. 

“Get Imp as well,” Sam said, gesturing to the jet black mare, who was stamping at the ground impatiently. The apprentice’s shoulders fell. It was well known in Monterrigioni that Imp was a biter. Dean hadn’t tried to train her out of it, thinking that it was a good defense mechanism.  
Sam left the horses with the two apprentices, making his way up the steps to the  
manor his uncle and father had inherited. Women were laughing in the streets, assassins and wives of assassins out running the day’s errands. Sam rubbed his eyes. Even his fellow assassins had lives more normal than his. he trudged around the massive stone fountain in the courtyard, approaching the two-story house. How am I going to tell Robi, he thought suddenly, stopping at the door. He took a deep breath. 

“Gotcha!” Sam heard, and something heavy dropped onto his shoulders, wrapping its arms around the assassin’s neck. Sam nearly rolled over, letting his body weight crush whatever threat was on his back, but he stopped himself. 

“Jo, you can’t pull that crap anymore, I almost stuck a blade in your neck,” Sam said,  
opening Monteriggioni’s large double doors and ducking inside. Jo slid down off of his neck, landing lightly on her toes. She flipped her cowl down, smiling at her cousin.

‘Yeah, but I got you, didn’t I? I’m getting better. Tried that on Dean last week and he caught me from fifteen feet away.” She looked behind him into the courtyard. “Where is that egghead, anyway? He wanted me to tell him when I got a double kill down on the dummies out back.” 

“I, uh, I lost him in the city. We got separated,” Sam said, avoiding Jo’s gaze.

“What aren’t you telling me, Sam?” Jo asked, all levity gone. Sam shook his head. 

“It was the guard, Jo. The guard got Dean. I got away. I have no idea what happened to him...” Sam ran a trembling hand through his hair. “I need to talk to your dad, we have to go back there and see if he’s still…” He trailed off. “We’ve got to get him out, Jo.”

Jo wrapped her arms around Sam’s waist, crushing the air from his lungs. 

“He’ll be okay, Sam. he always is. Have a little faith in him.” Jo said, stepping back and patting Sam on the back. Sam nodded, and walked towards Robi’s study. He knocked softly, entering the office he and Dean had stood together in not too long ago, awaiting their assignment on this mission. Robi was sealing a letter with the wax stamp of the brotherhood when Sam walked in. He smiled at his nephew; his brother’s boys were like his own sons. he loved them, trained them, fed them with the ferocity of an Italian parent, and with the fear of one who knows a little too much about the inner workings of the world.

“Sammy-boy! I was wondering when you two would show up,” Robi said, pressing the seal into the steaming wax. “Where is…” Sam pulled the ledger out of his robes and pressed it onto the desk. 

“I don’t know. We got separated in the piazza outside the Library. The guard was there, they knew what we were doing. I don’t know how, maybe they saw us go in or something, but...” Sam looked at the floor, gritting his teeth. “They have Dean.” Robi stood up, reaching across the desk to put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. 

“Your brother is an idiot to let himself get caught, but he did it so you could get away,  
I’ll bet my balls,” Robi said. “And we are going to get him.” 

Sam twisted his wrist, and his hidden blade slid out with a near-silent click. Robi shook his head. 

“Diplomatically, Sam. I will talk to my contacts within the guard.” he picked up the ledger, sweeping a thumb over the leather cover. Sam tried not to look at the book for too long--it made his head hurt. “You were right to put this first, Sam. I know it may not feel right, but it is. This book is very important to the cause,” Robi said.

“It better have been, Robi. And if Dean died for this…” Sam’s voice trailed off. “All over some little journal, I sure hope it’s worth it.”  
\-------

 

A week, maybe more. Not much more though, and definitely not less. Every day, it seemed, though there was no way to measure the passage of time in the torture chamber other than by the dull drip of water. Every day, Alistair would carve new landscapes of pain into Dean’s flesh. But Dean wasn’t Dean anymore. No, Dean had receded into an inner self, blocking his consciousness, his senses, from anything that existed on the plane of reality. It was a technique that Dean had used before; this was not his first time on the rack. But it was certainly the worst, the longest, and each time Dean receded into himself for a prolonged interrogation, he emerged slightly less...whole. So the thing hanging from the rack was not Dean anymore, and it hadn’t been him for a long time. As time was immeasurable to the thing on the rack, be it by seconds of minutes or drops of water or cuts around his eyes, we will call it forever. 

And so it was a forever ago that the door to his private hell opened. Not-Dean did not lift his head or acknowledge that there was another presence in the room--no, two presences. Perhaps Crowli was with Alistair again, but Not-Dean didn’t think so. Not-Dean didn’t think anything, honestly. 

He heard the crank turning, felt the rack being turned so that he was horizontal, instead of holding him upside down, like it had been for the most recent amount of forever that Not-Dean had been aware of. He sighed in relief, feeling all the blood in his body rush out of his head, and winced as all that blood flowed to the fresh lacerations in his lower body.

“Cut his binds, Balthazar. We need to get him out of here, and quickly, before that imbecile makes his way back down here,” a voice said, quiet and gruff. 

Not-Dean felt the iron clamps at his hands and feet give way, keeping his eyes closed beneath the rough blindfold Alistair had bound his eyes with a forever ago. He didn’t move, and breathed as little as he could. He had no hopes of rescue, had long since resigned himself that his brother and uncle believed him dead, and so he had no way to handle anything that didn’t include dealing with the infliction of pain. 

“Get that bloody thing off his face, Castiel. I’ll scout the hallway again,” the one who had freed Dean’s hands and feet said. He noted his British accent, heard him walk towards the door of the chamber and then heard his footsteps disappear.

“This is bad,” Castiel, the one with the sandpaper-over-gravel voice mused quietly. “I promise I’m not here to hurt you, assassin.” 

He felt strong fingers turn his head, feeling the blindfold’s knot at the base of his head. The knot loosened, and Dean blinked, blinded by the glow of the braziers in the corner of the room. His vision focused on the man in front of him, the one who had freed him. Dark hair, expensive robes, deep under-eye circles framing blue eyes. Dean’s eyes traveled down the man’s body. A templar cross. Two blood-red crosses, turned at an angle to look like stylized x’s, adorned the man’s chest, one on each lapel of his shin-length tan robes. 

“Templar…” Dean croaked, his voice bleeding from his shredded throat. 

“I’m a friend, and I’m getting you out of here,” the man said. He surveyed Dean’s  
broken body, biting his lip. “You’re not going to be able to move.” Dean swung his legs over the side of the rack and almost threw up. He reached out, grabbing the Templar’s shoulder for balance. 

“I can walk.” Dean tested his weight on one leg. He grimaced. 

“Don’t be foolish. At least let me help,” the Templar said. He grabbed Dean’s arm, slinging it over his shoulder and taking some of the weight off of Dean’s broken leg. Together, they limped out of the torture chamber. The pain in Dean’s body was so intense that he hadn’t noticed that he was nearly naked. He looked at the blade hanging from the Templar’s hip and was suddenly glad that he still had his loincloth on. They stopped in front of a set of cobbled steps. 

“It’s a lot of stairs. Can you make it?” The Templar fixed his gaze on Dean, who was  
suddenly speechless. The man’s blue eyes pierced through the lie Dean was about to give, that he was fine, he could make it, that he needed to keep whatever remaining dignity he had left in the face of his brotherhood’s greatest enemy. But in that too-intense stare, Dean noticed that one of the templar’s eyes was a shade darker blue than the other. Dio Mio, he thought, I’ve been saved by a ghost, or a demon, or Lord knows what. 

“We’ll see.” Dean croaked. The Templar nodded, checking over his shoulder to see if any of the guard had pursued them down the hallway. Dean gulped, lifted a foot, and passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >> THE HORSES NAMES ARE IMP AND ****PALLAS**** GET IT IT'S THE IMPALA GUYS IM SO CLEVER
> 
> ***I have changed the name of Sam's horse to Pallas, like Pallas Athena, after realizing that I offended a massive amount of people, namely the entire faith of Islam. See the comments for my apology.***


	3. The Red Knight’s Charge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two Templars, Castiel and Balthazar, are rescuing the Assassin Dean Vincense from the torture chambers of the FLorentine Guard. Their motives are unknown, even Castiel does not know why they are ordered to retrieve and protect one man, especially an Assassin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAS IS HERE EVERYONE ELSE CAN GO HOME NOW

Castiel cussed. He didn’t normally--Templars generally avoided hyperbole or over-expression. Throughout his many years of training as a soldier of the Order, the key ideologies of control over chaos, of purpose and direction in every action taken, had dominated his life. Every action was driven by intent, every word carried a deliberate meaning. 

So Castiel really meant it when the tortured assassin passed out at his feet and he  
whispered under his breath, “Porca vacca”. 

Balthazar appeared at the top of the stairs, his eyes twinkling with the promise of bloodshed.

“Is my order ready?” He asked, not waiting for Castiel to answer. “Come on, those  
guards won’t stay out for very long. I only hit them once.” 

Castiel gestured to the mess of a man at his feet weakly.

“You’re going to help me with this, right?” He asked. Balthazar shook his head, grinning. 

“I think he’s lost enough blood that he’ll be pretty manageable. Should give you no trouble at all, the poor waif. But don’t worry, I’ll clear the escape route for the precious cargo.” 

“Fine.”

Balthazar disappeared, and Castiel knelt down to lace his boots. He had no doubt that  
he would be able to carry the assassin to the rendezvous point, but it never hurt to be prepared. He slid his hands underneath the assassin’s arms, awkwardly draping the broken man over his shoulders, the way he had used to ride on his brother Gabriel’s back when he was still a trainee. Castiel was surprised by how frail and light the assassin was, and how small the burden of carrying this other man seemed. 

The order had raised Castiel and his fellow knights not to hate the assassins, but to treat them as uneducated zealots. Crazed and dangerous. They were simply an obstruction the the natural way of things, to the order that mankind so desperately needed among the chaos of the cosmos. Lunatics that only understood a blade, ones that could not be reasoned with. 

And so Castiel didn’t hate the man he carried through the city, up stairs and over buildings, ducking guard patrols and avoiding clumps of drunk Florentines just starting to stumble home after a long night of drinking and dancing. The assassin was simply a target. One that needed to be protected, not eliminated. 

Castiel was within spitting distance of the Templar headquarters, which was currently located within a dilapidated church on the southern side of Firenze, when he was spotted. Castiel had been checking the assassin’s pulse, paying attention to the labored rise and fall of his charge’s breath. He was so focused on his task that he walked right into a young man carrying a basket of burnt-looking bread. 

“Mi dispiace,” the boy said, stumbling back. “May I offer you some bread, messer? ‘S a bit burnt, but it’s still…” His voice caught in his throat as he noticed the nearly naked man bleeding out on Castiel’s shoulder. “What…”

Castiel didn’t think. He slid out his knife, moved forward quickly, and covered the  
young baker’s mouth with one hand, plunging his blade into his heart. 

“I am sorry,” Castiel murmured, lowering the boy’s body to the street. He was already dead--Castiel was an efficient killer, a good soldier. He repositioned the assassin’s body on his back, noting the awkward angle at which his leg dangled. The assassin groaned. Cas shook his head, closing the eyes of the boy who didn’t need to die. 

Castiel knew he had done the right thing. The right thing was always the mission, the order. But he had only had to kill that boy because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Castiel suddenly thought of the man on his back, wondering what he would have done had their positions been reversed. Would you have let him live, my friend? He wondered, climbing the vines growing up the side of the dilapidated cathedral. Castiel pulled himself up over the edge of the stone facade, and proceeded to knock three times on the stained-glass window depicting the Passion of the Christ. Jesus was laden down by a blood-stained cross, surrounded by two jeering men and women on each side, heading towards a glowing hill in the distance. Salvation and damnation at once, that cross and that hill. Castiel narrowed his eyes at the figure, analyzing his pose. He wasn’t one for religion: the order had long since abandoned their original crusade for Christianity, focusing instead on their battle with the assassins and their search for knowledge about the First Civilization.

The window swung open, and Castiel stepped inside the cathedral, dropping down the five-or-so feet between the window and the dusty floor. One of the assassin’s eyes twitched, and he grunted. One of Michael’s apprentices stood inside the window, carrying a torch. The apprentice put a finger to her lips, gesturing for Castiel to follow her along the transept, towards the Templar’s true base. 

Castiel followed dutifully, through the few clerical offices and down several flights of stairs. Once, the Order had been strong, with a base in the Papal palace in Roma, fingers in Il Vaticano, and hooks in the various merchant families of all of Europe. But that all fell with the tyranny of the mad assassin Ezio Auditore, whose revenge streak had led to the near decimation of the Templar order in Europe. Even now, rumours swirled that the ancient assassin had been sighted in Asia, around Constantinople. At least he’s out of the country, Castiel remembered thinking when he heard the news. The departure of the mass-murderer had allowed for the Order to set up in Italia again, re-signing old contracts and striking new deals to get a foothold in Florentine politics and business. It had seemed...tedious. That sort of work was better suited to some of Castiel’s brothers and sisters in the Order, like Naomi. Diplomats, businessmen, bankers, merchants. Castiel had always been a soldier, and that was all he ever hoped to be. 

The apprentice halted Castiel outside the medical wing. 

“Uriel is inside?” Castiel asked.

She nodded, bowed, and left Castiel and the assassin in the dark hallway. 

“Castiel, brother.” Uriel greeted Castiel, standing in one corner of the sparse room. Castiel nodded at his superior, dragging the assassin towards the only piece of furniture in the small room: a bed blanketed in simple burgundy sheets. Easier to wash the blood out of, one of the nurses had told Castiel after she caught him eyeing the sheets suspiciously. And they sure do bleed a lot around here, she had cackled, while preparing to amputate a Templar’s leg. Castiel had never liked that old crone, and he knew Balthazar thought she enjoyed causing pain much more than curing it. 

Castiel laid the assassin down on the bed, trying to do so as gently as possible. He took particular care with the broken leg, noticing the assassin’s wince as he positioned it carefully on the bed next to its unbroken brother. Just then, two medics shuffled in, shooing Uriel and Castiel out of the room. Uriel grinned at Castiel, startlingly white teeth set against his dark skin. Uriel had once been a slave in Spain, freed by a Templar master, and he often spoke of how the man had acted like a father to him. Many of the templars looked to their current Grandmaster, Michael, as a father figure, a feeling that wasn’t encouraged but that certainly wasn’t looked down on. Michael was just that way--distant, controlled. Castiel admired him for that, his poise, his complete command of himself and his emotions. Michael was always ready to make difficult decisions with a level head, meting out justice and mercy. But while he admired Michael for this, and would always respect the Grandmaster, Castiel could never wrap his head around a father figure. Probably because I never had one, he thought. 

Uriel jarred Castiel out of his thoughts. “How did it go? And Balthazar?”

“Balthazar should be returning to St. Cecilia’s now, so long as he didn’t run into any trouble on the way.” Cas hesitated. “I did run into one civilian in the streets.”

“I take it you took care of him, Castiel.”

“Yes, Uriel.”

“Unfortunate, but definitely necessary.” Uriel clasped Castiel’s shoulder. His accented Italian seared through Castiel’s guilt. “The important thing is that you completed the mission. You brought us the Assassin. You have done very well, Castiel.”

Castiel nodded, still not convinced that the baker needed to die, that he had needed to end yet another life. The weight of the night, the dead boy, and of the butchered assassin fell on him all at once, pushing his shoulders down noticeably.

“One more thing before you retire, Castiel.” Uriel said, releasing the Templar's arm. Castiel blinked, waiting. “We need information out of this one. As he heals, I want you to spend time with him, questioning him.”

Castiel cocked his head slightly in confusion, but nodded. “Surely someone more diplomatic would be better, Uriel. Perhaps Hester, or Samandriel?” 

Uriel shook his head. “I think this one would relate best to a fellow soldier, Castiel. Trust me, this assassin requires a different touch.” 

Castiel frowned. “You want me to torture him more? Uriel, I don’t think…” 

Uriel slapped Castiel on the back, avoiding the dark, wet stain of the assassin’s blood that covered most of his tan robes. “It is merely a metaphor, Castiel. I think he’s had quite enough forced interrogation for..well, however long he lives. Go, rest. The medics will take care of him for now. You can start on him in the morning.”  
Castiel bowed slightly, and left the corridor, slowly climbing back up through the catacombs of the Order’s base. Questions about Uriel’s, and by extension Michael’s, plans for the assassin swirled around in his head, momentarily taking his attention away from the dull aches in his exhausted muscles. What is the goal here? What can they possibly want from this, this assassin? What did he know that would justify saving him from the guard? Weren’t there other, more efficient means of gaining information? Where were these orders coming from? 

And above all, Castiel wondered,

Why do they want me to do this?


	4. Of Kitchen Tables and Baker's Helpers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Monterrigionni, Sam and Ellen discuss the disappearance of Dean, and what Robi has done to gather information. Childhood is discussed its pretty cute.

“Sam, eat something. Starving yourself isn’t going to help your brother you know.” 

Ellen set a steaming bowl of soup on the long kitchen table in front of Sam. The kitchen at the manor of Monteriggioni was equipped to serve dozens of assassins, but these days most of the brotherhood lived in the surrounding houses and apartments. Just Jo, Ellen, Robi, Dean and Sam stayed in the big house. it used to be the base of Auditore power, but that went the way most things in the brotherhood did. 

Sam tried to smile at his aunt, but all he managed was a weird display of his teeth. Ellen swatted his shoulder, grabbing a spoon from one of several mahogany drawers and cupboards. 

Ellen had been as much a mother to Dean and Sam as Robi had been a father since Jon’s death, something Dean never liked to talk about. Unlike Dean, Sam had no memories of their mother. He was still crawling when she was killed by a Templar hitman. Maria had been active in the Brotherhood directly when she was younger, but had long since put her blades away by the time Sam and Dean were born. Jon was the one who did the bloodletting, while Maria had gladly gone back to reopen her parent’s bakery in Monteriggioni. It had been closed ever since her parents quit the village and the brotherhood, retiring somewhere in Tuscany. 

Sam often heard Dean talk about the old bakery when he was drunk. Dean would talk with his hands, gesturing with his wine goblet and leaning forward on whatever table was between him and whoever he could get to listen. he talked about the breads, cakes, and pies filled with fruit, meat, and sometimes even cream. When Dean asked to help, their mother always passed him a fork, instructing him to press the tines around the rim of the pie pan. It seemed like a simple task, Dean would say, gesturing at whoever was laughing at him, but the way Maria put it, aerating those pies was the most important job in the world. Sam would smile and look away. He always smiled and looked away when Dean talked about their mother. 

Maria had been at her father’s bakery when the Templars came for her: 

“Thank You, Ellen,” Sam said as his aunt sat down on the bench across from him. She wore a dark red gown that matched the red of the tapestries draped around the manor, but Sam knew that she would have no problem tying her skirt and going into combat at a moment’s notice. Ellen was an acting member of the brotherhood, though she had recently taken a break from participating in assigned missions. Her daughter Jo had taken her place in the ranks. 

Ellen leaned across the kitchen table, taking one of Sam’s hands in her own.  
“Robi’s doing everything he can, you know that, Sam,” she said.

Sam nodded, pulling his spoon through Ellen’s soup. Ellen took a deep breath. 

“And last night, Robi went to Firenze to meet with some of his contacts in the city.” 

“What? Why?”

“His moles in the guard have been killed, and he thinks that something big is happening.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?” 

Ellen shook her head at her nephew. “You know why, boy. If you knew he was going, and if you knew why, you’d want to go too. And end up blundering around, killing your way through witnesses to find your brother.” She hesitated, then added, “And he can’t really stomach the concept of losing both of you boys. He thinks he can protect you--”

“By keeping me hostage here.” Sam nodded, he stared at the vegetables swirling around in his bowl. 

“So why did you tell me?” Sam asked, meeting Ellen’s soft gaze. “You could just have easily kept quiet about the whole thing.” 

“Sam, you and Dean...you two are a package deal, and I know that you think that you’re all you’ve got left in this world sometimes. If your brother was the one who made it out, and you were the one who got grabbed, how long do you think he’d be able to sit his ass on that bench?” Sam nodded, biting his lip. “This is what you need to do, Sam. I understand that. Just know that Robi and Jo and I love you boys, and want you to be safe. But I understand what you need to do. Also, I trust you not to blow it up.”

Ellen stood up, walked around the table and patted Sam on the shoulder. 

“Finish your soup, I’ll have the apprentices get Pallas ready.” 

“Make sure they get Imp too,” Sam said, after discarding the spoon in favor of simply dumping it down his throat. “I’m bringing him back.”


	5. Nothing Is True, Everything is Permitted; The Family Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has passed out due to losing uh most of his blood and terrible torture. He's having a hard time. Dream-Dean is having a marginally better time.

On some level, Dean knew that he was dreaming. He knew it, but he didn’t really care. Dean was having too nice a time to care about whether reality factored into anything meaningful anymore.

He was content just to let his legs dangle over the edge of the roof of Santa Trinita, leaning his back against the sun-warmed tiles of the roof. His traditional thick capelet and and chest armor were gone. He wore only a loose-fitting shirt with billowing sleeves and soft linen breeches. The trademark hood of his order was nowhere to be seen; instead the unrelenting Italian sun fell across his face, warming his sandy hair and freckled face that had so often been hidden beneath the shadow of his hood. 

“Dean.”

Dean opened his eyes, staring at the puffy clouds overhead. When he was young, he used to enjoy lying in the grass with Sam or Jo after a long day of training, picking out animals and shapes. He had never lost his affection for cloudgazing, even if Sam and the other assassins made fun of him sometimes. 

“Hey, Dad.” 

The two were quiet for a long time, or for a short time. The diaphanous clouds: flowers, dancing women, and wispy whales moved with a gentle breeze, leaving Dean with a cloudless sky to stare at. He sighed, sitting up. His father lounged next to him, leaning against the wall of the belltower. 

“You’re looking fit for a dead guy,” Dean said, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know if he was glad that his father was in his dream or not, but then again he had a hard time determining whether he was ever glad to see his father when he was alive.

“Not bad yourself, son.” Jon Vincense smiled at him abruptly, his wide grin splitting his face. “Since we’re here, Dean…” Jon jerked his head slightly at the bell tower beside him, his eyes traveling up the side of the structure. 

The yellowing bricks shot upwards at least a hundred feet from where Dean and his father were. Dean followed his father’s gaze, cataloguing different paths up the side of the steeple. He smirked at his father, ducking his head a little in respect. 

“You’re on, Angel of Death.” 

Jon threw his head back and laughed, whirling around and starting up the bell tower in one smooth movement. Dean scrambled up, launching towards his first handhold. 

“You had a head start, you old dog!” Dean shouted to his father, who was already twenty feet above him. 

“What are the tenets of our creed, son?” Jon called down to him. Dean jumped from his slightly-loose brick to a window ledge, keeping his limbs close to his body. “You’ve gone soft in the time I’ve been gone, haven’t you?”

Dean hauled himself up the side of the tower, moving quietly along a path of loose bricks that curved around a corner. “Nothing is true.” He pushed his left foot against an iron bar embedded in the brick, catching the lip of the scaffolding of the belltower. “Everything is permitted. But that doesn’t mean you can cheat me, you salty old bastard.” 

Dean peered through the scaffolding of the bell tower, watching his father’s legs disappear as he pulled himself ever upward towards the roof, laughing the whole time. “Why not? It’s open to interpretation, isn’t it? At least in terms of friendly races.” 

Dean’s gaze darted around, settling on a set of weighted rig of ropes meant to haul bellringers from the basilica below. In a reckless move, he reached out to grab the rope with one hand. Sliding his hidden blade out of it’s wrist sheath, he quickly cut the rope, sending the weighted end down to the church below and yanking Dean skyward. He flew through the scaffolding, dodging beams and ropes as soon as he saw them. He rapidly approached the roof, letting go of the rope just before it flipped up through the rigging, slapping against the ceiling. He stepped off into empty space, not seeing the ledge he landed on until it was beneath him. he could afford to be reckless, it was a dream. 

Dean pulled himself up and onto the roof of the bell tower, brushing the bits of rope from his hands. He peered over the other side of the tower, a half smile tugging at his lips. “Everything is permitted, asshole,” he said. “including being badass.” 

“Did you think of that all day? That line, I mean, or is that your fallback catchphrase? Use that one on the Templars, I bet.” His father was balancing on one foot, on the top of the iron spire emerging from the roof. He crouched down, sliding off of the spire to stand next to his son. 

“Gotcha.”

“Merde. A good race, Father,” Dean said, reaching out to clasp his mentor’s arm. “Even if you are a cheat,” 

His father inclined his head. “If it weren’t for that head start, your little maneuver with the lift would have probably gotten you here first.”   
“I know.” 

The two men balanced on the small rooftop for a moment, enjoying the wind in their hair and the silence of altitude in a world where people were still bound to the earth, and verticality was something wondered at but not achieved. 

Dean peered over the edge of the bell tower, spotting a massive pile of hay at the base of the church. “How convenient,” he said to his father, pointing it out to his father. “Looks like we have an easy way down.”

Jon grinned, took a few steps backwards towards the spire and then vaulted off of the roof. His body gracefully tilted forward, aiming perfectly for the soft hay in the streets below. He flipped end over end as he fell, landing on his back with his arms spread. Dean could practically feel his father’s earth-shaking laugh from the top of the tower. Being dead’s the happiest I have ever seen him, Dean thought suddenly. He shook that thought from his head, backing up towards the spire. The Assassins had always said Jon was the most skillful climber in Italia since Ezio left, and the older mentors often had speculated that Dean had inherited that skill. 

They were fucking right. 

Dean shot forward, lifting off of the edge of the tower at an angle and sending his body spinning over the edge. He spun like one of the Jewish dreidels Robi had given the boys for Christmas when they were younger. He pulled his arms in tight, letting them spread to his sides as the spin slowed, tucking his head and flipping as his father had so that he stared up at the sky as he fell. It felt like freedom, like flight. There was no fear involved here, and not just because it was a dream, a fact that slid into clarity as his body hit the hay with a soft "fwoomp". 

He could faintly hear his father calling him a show off as he dug his way out of the hay and emerged into reality.


	6. From The Flesh Of An Innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DEAN AND CAS TALK TO EACH OTHER ITS AMAZING THERES A DAGGER IS IT A PHALLUS MAYBE I DONT KNOW HMM I DIDNT MEAN IT THAT WAY BUT IN THE MIDDLE OF IT I REALIZED THATS PRETTY MUCH A FRIGGIN DICK YO AND YEAH

Uriel’s orders for Castiel were to keep watch over the Assassin in the medical wing after the man’s first twenty four hours in recovery. He slept still, and the nurse that spoke to Castiel said that he should be waking up soon, if he woke at all. So Castiel waited for the Assassin to wake, sitting on the three legged stool the ancient angry nurse had dragged into the room after two hours of Castiel pacing in and out of the room. 

Castiel tapped his foot on the tiled floor. He would follow any orders the Order decided for him, trusted that the decisions of his brothers- and sisters-in-arms were in the interest of order and understanding. But babysitting a man who seemed more dead than alive seemed like a task for some other Templar. Castiel should have been out in the streets, among the citizens of Firenze, gathering information and cutting his way through those who impeded justice. Castiel twirled his blade in his hand: the long, silver dagger was the default weapon of the Templar Knights, the soldiers. The hiltless blade was Castiel’s most treasured possession, the nearly invisible runes running down the edge of the blade detailing his rank, important kills, and the motto of the Order. 

Castiel ran his finger down the blade along the runes, over and over the runes for “Not to us God, not to us…” dozing. 

“Betcha killed a lot of people with that.” 

Castiel’s eyes flicked open, meeting the bloodshot gaze of the Assassin across from him. The nurses had cleaned up most of the blood and stitched up the minor cuts on his face, but it was still pretty puffy and bruised. Castiel noted the mottled purplish-yellow of the bruises across the man’s cheekbones and jawline, his wrapped leg and bandaged arms. If the Assassin tried to make a break for it, those were targets Castiel would aim for. Not that it looked much like he was in any shape to move, but still. It never hurt to prepare, especially with an Assassin.

“I seen a lot of those bitches in my day. Never quite seen one like that. The chickenscratch…along the edge. What’s it say?”

Castiel turned his blade over in his hands, and in handed it hilt-first to the assassin. He hesitated, then reached out and took the weighted blade. 

“It’s Hebrew. My rank as a captain, the old creed of the Order, and important targets I’ve eliminated.”

The Assassin examined the blade, testing it’s weight in his hand. “Seems longer when you’re on this end of it.” He passed the blade back to Castiel. “So. You’re the asshole who saved me, right? To what do I owe the rescue?” 

Castiel took a deep breath. “To be honest with you, I don’t know. They don’t always tell me everything. I’m just a soldier.” 

“A captain, right?” 

Castiel nodded. 

“So you don’t know jack?” The Assassin asked, glaring at Castiel. His green eyes narrowed. 

“Do they tell you everything? They have to have some kind structure in your “brotherhood”, and I bet you’re not at the top of the chain of command.” Castiel snapped. 

“Ah yeah, great detective work there, Captain,” the Assassin said, rolling his eyes, but Castiel could see that his words had struck him. 

The two sat in silence for a few minutes. 

“I should probably go tell them that you’re awake. They wanted to do something to your leg, but they couldn’t do it while you were asleep.”

The Assassin shook his head. “Modern medicine makes no sense at all to me.” 

Castiel stood up, walked towards the curtained door.

“Wait.”

Castiel paused in the middle of pulling the curtain away. 

“What’s your name, Templar?”

“Castiel.”

“Castiel,” the Assassin said. “I’m Dean Vincense. And I don’t know why you did it, but thanks. For saving my life, I mean.” Dean’s eyes didn’t meet Castiel’s, focusing instead on the high window in the far corner of the room that just barely caught some sunlight from the floor above. 

Castiel nodded, and pulled the curtain closed behind him.


	7. The Boy Who Would Be King (Of The Whores)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam looks for information about his lost brother. There are whores. It's great.

Sam tied his mare to the post outside La Rosa Colta, stroking his horse’s mane and securing his harness. Imp nickered at Pallas, stamping her feet and chomping the bit between her teeth. Sam knew that the horses would be fine together, but he was a little bit worried about Imp. Dean spent much of his time with his horse when he wasn’t training or on a mission. Most of the Assassins in the brotherhood had the apprentices and servants take care of their mounts, but Dean preferred to brush and feed Imp himself. 

“If you ever trained that thing not to bite other people, you might be able to let the apprentices take care of that demon.” Dean’s father had said, standing in the doorway while Sam and Dean rubbed down their horses a few years ago. Sam had grinned; this was one of the few times that he agreed with his father.

“No, padre, I know what I’m doing,” Dean had said, running a currycomb over Imp’s black coat. And Sam had to admit, on more than one occasion Imp’s tendency to kick first and ask questions later had gotten them out of some tight spots. 

Sam left the horses outside the Rosa, following a pair of courtesans into the whorehouse. The women of the Rosa Colta had been working closely with the Assassins for several years. The Auditore family had been close with the previous Madonna of the courtesans, and many Assassins had started out in the whorehouse. Orphans of Florence often ended up there, or in the Thieves Guild. When the Templars had been stronger, they would often source their low-ranking members from orphanages and, it was rumoured, certain families. 

If Robi was in Firenze and looking for news about Dean, he would have gone to the courtesans first. 

The marbled interior of the Rosa reflected the flickering glow from the braziers, and the air was filled with the honeyed singing of a trio of whores at the top of the stairs. A harpist at the base of the stairs harmonized with them, and the bankers, merchants, and lawmakers of Florence milled between each other, the prostitutes, and the curtained-off private rooms upstairs. Sam thanked the two whores, bowing deeply to the girls. They smiled at him, brushing past the Assassin and running their hands over his shoulders and arms. 

He kept a hand on his purse. Sam knew these women too well. 

Sam made his way up the stairs, trailing his gloved fingers over the scarlet-draped railing. Sam and Dean had been coming to the Rosa with their father for years, and had learned to respect the skills of the courtesans when they were children. 

Sam made his way towards the end of the second floor landing, past the curtained-off “private rooms” and knocked on the only door in the building. 

“Sam!” A pale, gangly thirty-something opened the door, grabbing Sam’s forearm with spindly fingers and pulling him in for a very uncomfortable hug. The man’s pointy shoulders dug into Sam’s body despite the fur-lined robe the man they called “King of Whores” constantly sported. Sam hugged the shorter man back awkwardly, trying not to squish him. 

“Hey, Garth.” 

Garth, an unwanted orphan who had been dropped off at the Rosa, had grown up training with the Assassins at Monterrigionni, and was with the same group of Assassin apprentices as Sam and Dean. He had gone by Giovanni back then, but chose to go instead by his childhood nickname of Garth when he decided to leave the Brotherhood. 

Garth smiled wide, his eyes crinkling. He pulled Sam into his chambers, waving a hand at the courtesan waiting quietly near the balcony. She nodded, ducking outside to leave the two in privacy.

“It’s so good to see you, mio fratello,” Garth said

“You as well, Garth. It’s been, what, six months since we last saw each other?” 

Garth nodded, leading Sam over to a pair of couches. “Yes, I think so. Ellen’s birthday party back at Monteriggioni, wasn’t it? She wouldn’t tell anyone how old she was, and Robi kept guessing…”

“Guessing that she was Jo’s age, yes. That was one of the best parties I think I’ve ever been to.” Sam said. Dean thought that Garth was hard to take sometimes, but he was an important ally, and had been like a little brother to Sam in many ways.

“Then you’ve been going to the wrong parties, my friend. You need to spend more time in Firenze! My parties are,” He leaned over the low table between the two couches. “Legendary.”

“I bet.” 

“But enough about me, Sam. How are things up at Villa Auditore, or Villa Vincense, or whatever you’re calling it these days? Jo, Robi, Ellen?” A servant entered, bringing a wine bottle and goblets for the two men. Garth smiled at her, then looked around, suddenly realizing why Sam was here. “This is about Dean.” It wasn’t a question. 

The servant set the bottle and goblets on the table. Sam thanked her quietly, waiting for the girl to leave before nodding. 

 

“Was Robi here recently?” 

Garth poured himself a glass of wine without responding. 

Sam leaned forward, looking Garth in the eye. The King of Whores met his gaze steadily. 

“Garth, I know he was here, and I know he’s looking for Dean. I need you to tell me everything you know, and everything you told Robi.” 

“Sam, I don’t--”

“Please. It’s my fault that he was captured, and I should be the one to get him back.”

Garth shook his head, taking a long drink from his goblet.  
“Assassins, especially you Vincense’s. Always so self sacrificing, ready to lay your life on the line for the innocent, for your brother, your family. That’s why I had to get out you know.” Garth said, gesturing to the building around them. “I was never cut out for that kind of life, Sam. Sure, I could kill, I could fight, but I never had that. The drive, the cause to self-sacrifice that you all have. It’s just not me. I’m much better off here, where things make sense. I manage the books, and I organize the girls. There’s no gray area.”

“Look, Garth.” Sam wrung his hands. He was losing his patience. “I know that you’re better than you think you are. You have managed the Rosa, and the girls, and you and the putanas here have helped us save many lives and right many wrongs. You know what’s right. I believe that.” Sam leaned back on his couch, sipping his goblet. “The only person you need to prove it to is yourself, Principe Putana.”

Garth was quiet for a moment.

“Robi was here two days ago, with three other Assassins. They were looking for information about your brother, and came to me first. Much like you,” Garth said, jerking a finger at Sam. “But I told him what I knew. Two weeks ago, three of my girls heard several different accounts of what happened outside the library. We were able to put together a pretty good picture of the situation. Seems like there were two waves of guarda, heavily armed.” 

“And they were damn ready for you two. Whatever they stuck Dean with was coated in at least three kinds of paralyzing agents. Every blade that they had was dripping with it. They wanted you guys, and they wanted you both.”

“Okay. So where the hell did they take him?”

“That, we don’t know. The Guard’s been really quiet lately. Not even the Rosa’s best could get it out of the usual people. That new Captain’s got them tucking tail.”

“Cazzo.” Sam cussed.

“That’s what Robi said, after he called me an idiot.” 

“Well,” Sam said, running a hand through his hair, “Don’t get me wrong Garth, I really appreciate the information. I was just hoping it would be more…” 

“More.” Garth nodded. 

“Yeah,” Sam said. “but it’s more than I had before, Garth. So thanks.” 

Garth raised his goblet to Sam, then tipped it back, emptying it. Sam was a little concerned. Garth had always been a lightweight, and one glass used to have him swinging from the rafters of the Villa’s attic. Jo would find him the next morning in random places on the Villa’s grounds. 

Sam stood up to leave.

“One more thing, Sam.” Garth said “One of the servants heard Robi’s group say that they were going to try for the Guild next.”

“The Thieves Guild?” Sam said, surprised. It was a good idea. If the prostitutes of Firenze hadn’t caught anything, perhaps the pickpockets and jail-hounds had. 

Garth nodded. “Their last base got raided by the new Captain last week. What’s left of the guild has relocated down by the river, check the bar called the Sunken Riverboat. If you want in, there’s a codeword. Forbici. It says you’re from the Rosa.” 

Garth stood up to show Sam out. “You’d better get a move on, Sam, if you’re going to catch up to your uncle.” Sam clasped the King of Whore’s hand, pulling him in for another hug. 

“Thank you, Garth,” 

He left, making his way back towards the stairs. 

“And you should come to my next party, Sam! You and Dean, I expect you both at the next Rosa party. Maybe for Christmas. You both need to have a bit more fun.” Garth called after him, clutching his ermine-lined robe. 

Sam waved, and made his way out of the whorehouse.


	8. Of Attics and Basements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel discovers the reason that the Templar Order is interested in Dean Vincense, and why the Assassins were after the ledger in the library.

“The Bible? Really?” Dean asked the Templar, running his fingers along the leather spine of the holy book. It was unadorned apart from the gold engraving centered on the front of the Bible, depicting a thick cross wrapped in thorny vines. 

Castiel nodded. “You asked for literature while you recovered. It’s an old church, Dean. It’s simply what’s available.” He had scoured the Templar base’s limited library, for things that he thought Dean might be interested in reading: it was in everyone’s best interests that the Assassin stayed relaxing in bed, healing up to the point that Castiel’s superiors deemed “sufficient”. He had thumbed through historical accounts of battle, foundations of cities, fictional tales of war and loss, and even some dusty old romance stories hidden amongst the holy texts. Castiel had thumbed through these and blushed a bit: these books should not be anywhere near holy ground. He had decided to leave most of those love stories behind, but grabbed one on a whim. Just for diversity, he thought to himself. Maybe Assassins secretly love romance novels. An image of Dean sitting near a glowing hearth, clutching a love story and burrowed into a thickly upholstered chair struck him, and he couldn’t help but grin. 

“I just got you an assortment of what we had available in the library. Most of our texts were burned when your Brotherhood decimated us those many years ago. Hopefully what’s left will be entertaining to you, Dean.” 

“You don’t have to be salty about it.” Dean murmured, adjusting the stack of books Castiel had placed on his bed. Castiel saw him struggling, and lifted the tomes off the hospital bed, placing them on the stool next to the resting Assassin. His recovery had been going as expected, the ancient, crotchety nurse explained to Castiel after he left Dean to his literature. 

“See you later, Cas.” Dean said as Castiel left the room. Castiel almost protested at the shortened version of his name, but decided against it. If Castiel was supposed to be getting information out of the Assassin, it was better to remain on Dean’s good side. 

“How soon until he can walk again?” Castiel asked her as she tended to a wounded trainee. 

“You’re asking me?” she croaked, cutting a bandage for the apprentice’s gashed arm. “Listen here, bischero,” Castiel bristled at the name, he had been called many things in his tenure as a member of the Order, from trainee to captain, but an idiot was not an epithet he was used to. “I have been working with the order for forty years. Longer than you’ve been alive. And I have never seen anyone as messed up as he is--no one who has lived through it at least.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “So it’s good, then, that he’s awake and seems to have retained some part of his memory and personality. This should be a good sign.” 

“I call it a miracle that he woke up. But I wouldn’t expect another miracle. Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice.”

“That’s merely a myth,” Castiel said gruffly. “But you don’t expect him to make a full recovery?”

The nurse opened a large brass tin in one corner of the room; Castiel saw her pull out two leeches, setting them on a tray. He frowned. Bloodletting seemed ineffective to him, based on the one time he had had the procedure done on him following a high fever that wouldn’t seem to break. He certainly hadn’t died, but he didn’t attribute that to the leeches stuck to his arm. 

“I don’t expect him to ever regain use of his right leg. It was broken in so many places, and I’m a praying woman,” She gesticulated towards Castiel with a leech. “But even I know when to quit.”

Castiel nodded somberly and left the room. Gabriel wanted to meet with him regarding the Assassin’s recovery, and to further discuss their next course of action regarding Dean Vincense. He climbed a few flights of stairs, up to the main level of the ruined church, and then up through a spiral staircase to the Church’s attic to Gabriel’s quarters. 

He knocked once, then rapped a code on the door. Gabriel opened the door, immediately trapping Castiel in a bear hug. Castiel patted Gabriel’s bare back uncomfortably; his ranking officer was one of the most affectionate of the Templars Castiel had ever encountered, but Castiel knew that Gabriel was just as quick to pat you on the back as he was to stab you in it. 

“There’s my best Captain!” Gabriel was dressed in only a pair of dark brown breeches; Castiel saw a steaming tub of water in the corner of his massive personal chamber.

“Uh, sorry, Gabriel, I can come back--” Castiel said.

“Nonsense, Castiel!” Gabriel said, waving his Captain into his chambers and towards a few seats. “Here have a seat. What can I help you with, fratello?” 

“Uh, you requested any updates on the status of the Assassin--”

“Ah yes, the Vincense! Terrible family, them, been part of their “Brotherhood” for generations. You know, it took me ten years to pin his goddamn father down and cut his head off. Now he,” Gabriel said, taking his pants off and lowering himself into his bath. "He was difficult. Almost as bad as those damned Auditore…He was just so fast, and had this way of killing that was almost...artistic. Admirable.” Gabriel sank lower into the steaming water. “But numbers can overcome almost any physical strength.”

“Yes, well, the medics downstairs don’t think he’ll be able to walk again. Crowli and his torturer did too much damage.” 

“Yes, Crowli. We are going to have to take care of him soon; he’s getting a bit of a big head. Castiel, would you pass me the sponge on that table over there? Be a doll.” Gabriel smiled widely at Cas, flashing his teeth.

Castiel sighed quietly, but obeyed the order. Gabriel began sudsing his armpits with a grin on his face. Some thought Gabriel crazy, but if he was crazy, it was the kind of functional craziness that any successful operation needs. And if he wasn’t crazy, it was one of the best acts Castiel had ever seen. Either way, it was in everyone’s best interests to keep Gabriel happy.   
“But, anyway, I think this is a good thing. We can use this.”

Castiel was silent.

“Think about it. If he knows he’ll never walk again, never kill again, knows he can never do his cursed “Brotherhood” any good anymore, he’d be more willing to give up and just tell us where the hell it is.”

“That is one possibility. But what if he decides it’s the last honorable thing that he can do for his family?”

Gabriel stopped soaping himself, and narrowed his eyes at his Captain, jovial no more. He was pure lieutenant now, cold and calculating. “You’ve been speaking with him.” 

“Not very much. I didn’t know exactly what kind of information to look for, since no one has bothered to tell me what exactly we want from this man.”

Gabriel smacked himself in the head, levity returning to his expression. “Uriel didn’t need to know, and I was planning on telling you, but I completely forgot.” Gabriel flicked a bit of foam at Castiel. “Oops.”

“Well, now would be a good time to fill me in.” Castiel stood up, walking over Gabriel’s bar, pouring himself a goblet of spiced rum. 

“The ledger that the Vincense and his accomplice, who we believe to be his brother, stole from the library. It’s an old medical journal from one of the largest groups of midwives in Firenze, from around sixteen years ago. We have interests in one of the recorded births, and need to know everything that we can about this youth.”

“Why is one child worth so much trouble?” Castiel said, picturing Dean’s broken and bandaged frame in the hospital bed downstairs, smiling weakly at Castiel when he entered his recovery room that morning.

“We believe that ledger contains the identity of the next sage, Castiel.” Gabriel said, emerging from the tub halfway. Castiel turned in his chair, deciding to focus instead on the stained intact glass window across the chamber.

Sages were direct descendents (some even thought reincarnations) of the Ones Who Came Before, the precursor race that had a hand in creating humanity. They had died off many eons ago, but some of their advanced technology remained in this world. Twenty years ago, Ezio Auditore and the Borgias of the Order had fought over possession of the Apple of Eden, one of few known pieces of First Civilization technology. The Apple allowed the user to control people around them; it was a tool that held promise for the Templar Order.

There was more that remained of the First Civilization. And the Templars wanted it.

“There are reports of a child with different colored eyes in that ledger, according to our sources. And they got it straight from the Assassins.” Gabriel said. 

Castiel nodded. Heterochromia was one of the indicators of a sage, according to texts from the Holy War in the Middle East, when the Templars were at the height of their power. Castiel had studied many of the remaining historical and personal accounts in the library, after Hannah once pointed out that his eyes were ever-so-slightly different. “What?” He had exclaimed, crossing his eyes a bit trying to see the difference. She had giggled and kissed him, effectively stopping any further conversation about his eyes. But he had spent hours in front of Hannah’s looking glass, examining his eyes. He had eventually convinced himself that they were the same color, or at least close enough that no one would notice. And certainly not different enough to mean anything.

“You think Dean may know the identity of this child?” 

“Worth a shot.” Gabriel said. “Or at least it’s current location. I’m clothed, you fragile flower. My honor is protected.” Castiel looked over his shoulder at his brother-in-arms. Gabriel ore tight fitting pants, a blousy shirt and wore an embroidered golden tunic. He topped it all with a floppy golden-brown hat. 

“Very elegant.” Castiel said.

“Says you. All you ever wear is that duster.” Gabriel said, jerking a finger at Castiel’s long tan robes. 

“It’s utilitarian. Lots of pockets and , a common color, everything about this overcoat makes sense.” Castiel said, standing up. 

“Sure. Bet it’s really easy to run in that.” Gabriel said, pulling a few different belts from his wardrobe. 

“Most people end up running away from me,” Castiel said. “But it’s actually easier than you would think.” 

Gabriel laughed. “I believe you, Castiel. speaking of running, I think you have some business to take care of with that Assassin. I want that information. If we find that sage, I believe that we can unlock the secrets of the First Civilization. This could be the mission that sets the Templar Order back on top, Castiel. This is the most important operation you have ever been a part of.” Gabriel abandoned his belts, walking across the carpeted chamber to clap Castiel on the back. 

“And I trust you will perform well. May the Father of Understanding guide you, fratello.” 

Castiel nodded, murmuring “May the Father of Understanding guide you as well.”


	9. More Things That Sam Shouldn't Do, But Does Anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking the advice of Garth, the manager of La Rosa Colta, Sam investigates the Thieves Guild hoping to find information about Dean's disappearance, in the process making several enemies and a new friend.

Sam made his way through the crowded bar, keeping his navy robes close to his body. If Garth had been truthful, of which Sam had no doubt, then the Sunken Riverboat was frequented by more shady characters than the average Florentine pub. He had made sure to tuck his coinpurse into his boot before entering.

Sam pushed his way up to the bar, where three bulky looking men sat in a row, drinking liquor out of flasks and mugs. Sam sat down next to them, and in an answer to their unfriendly glare he nodded slightly in their direction from beneath his hood. The other men grunted, returning to their quiet conversation.

“Real friendly, aren’t they?” One of the girls behind the bar said, leaning on the counter near Sam. She wore her fiery hair in a braid, and struck Sam with a wicked smile. Her accent was barely noticeable, but Sam heard it. English. 

“I know how to deal with their type. They’re just like my brother. All bark and no bite.” Sam grinned wryly. 

“Can I get you anything, messer?” The barmaid asked, polishing a glass. 

Sam leaned further over the counter and lowered his voice. “Uhm...Forbici?” He said, giving her a furtive glance.

Understanding dawned in the young woman’s eyes. “Ah, yes. You don’t look like the normal type from the Rosa. Guess they take all kinds now, don’t they?”

Sam stuttered, and she grinned, setting down her glass on the counter. “Guild’s this way.” She ducked around the side of the counter, and Sam followed her behind a dark tapestry and through a few more smoky rooms filled with the jovial cries of drunken thieves. A few of the more inebriated patrons tried to grab at the fiery-haired barmaid as she led Sam through the bar, which she easily darted around. 

“Not bad,” Sam said, as they emerged into the alleyway behind the Sunken Riverboat. 

She smiled. “You learn a lot from hanging out with these ubriacioni. The ones you want to talk to are up there, Assassin.” She pointed to a rail-less wooden staircase that clung to the side of the building. “The Leviathans, the thieves guild governors, hold court in that wing.” 

“Grazie, Madonna. I appreciate your help.” Sam bowed to her, and she left him in the alley. 

\---

“I don’t care where you think they are now! It’s not important. As long as you’re here and working when we’re out of the city, it won’t matter.” Raised voices boomed from the door. Sam raised a gloved hand, prepared to rap his knuckle on the door frame. Before he had the chance, though, the door swung open. A dark-skinned man emerged onto the wooden staircase, trapping Sam between the open space behind him and the mass of the man. Sam struggled not to fall backwards into space, and grabbed onto the man’s shoulder in surprise. The dark skinned man pulled Sam towards him, slamming the Assassin against the frame of the open door. He held Sam’s gaze for a moment. Sam held his breath; neither man said anything. Then he released Sam quickly, muttered something to himself in a language he didn’t understand, and made his way down the stairs. Sam let out a shaky breath

“And good evening to you too, Uriel,” A skinny middle-aged man in an elegant tunic called after the figure from inside the building. The figure showed no sign that he heard the farewell, continuing down the alley and into the night. 

“Now what?” the man in the tunic said, just now seeming to notice the terrified-looking giant in his doorway. “Who the hell are you?”

Sam steadied himself, trying to forget the icy hatred in the dark-skinned man’s eyes as he released him. “I seek an audience with the Leviathan of the Thieves Guild. I am a representative of the Assassin’s Brotherhood. May I come in, please?” 

“That’s kind of funny. I just spoke with the Brotherhood yesterday,” the man said, trilling his voice a bit on the word “Brotherhood”. “And you, amico, you were not with them. I would remember a moody giraffe like you.” 

Sam stood quietly in the doorframe. He hadn’t thought that the Guild would refuse to meet with him. “Please, it will be just a moment of your time, Signore...” 

“Roman, Riccardo Roman.”

“Signore Roman, please. I need information about a certain Assassin--” Sam begged. 

“Then I suggest you go talk to your brotherhood. I have already spoken with the Assassin’s regarding their lost cause. I will tell them what I told you. You have no idea what is really happening in Firenze. Expect the worst. Now, please, if you’ll excuse me.”

Sam caught the door as it closed in his face, sliding his hidden blade out of it’s sheath between the jamb and the door. 

“I wasn’t finished.” Sam said calmly. 

Roman pulled the door open and smiled at Sam genuinely. He didn’t strike Sam as the thieving kind. Roman was a businessman, and management was where his interests lied. He had never done a day of hard work in his life, and probably didn’t know how to defend himself from any simple attacks. Everything about him bespoke strength, the way he carried himself, the way his eyes took apart whatever they looked at, attempting to understand how things around him worked so he could use them for his advantage. 

“Some would not think it wise,” Roman said, leaning forward and resting his arm on the doorjamb where sam’s blade still rested, “to make an enemy of the Leviathans. The Thieves Guild has it’s fingers in every business, church, and brothel in Firenze. You’re even stupider than your brother.” Sam didn’t move, didn’t show that every muscle in his body was twitching with the desire to lurch forward and bury both of his blades in the Leviathan’s throat. “Now, would you kindly leave me to my evening. I have important matters to attend to.”

Roman grinned, showing his teeth. Then he backed up into the Guild’s chamber, and swung the door shut. Sam flicked his wrist, sliding his wrist blade back into its sheath just in time for the door to close unimpeded. Sam leaned forward, resting his head against the stone wall of the building and closing his eyes and catching his breath. He was so close...so close to finding out what had happened to his brother. That bastard knew where Dean was, Sam was sure of it. He broke away from the doorjamb, taking the stairs two at a time before slamming both fists into the wall across the narrow alley. He pounded on the wall, one fist over the other as his eyes stung. 

“Didn’t go so well, huh?” 

Sam spun around. The girl from the bar was sitting on a blocky bench near the exit to the Sunken Riverboat, lazily drinking from a wine bottle. “He’s kind of an asshole.” 

“Is he always so accommodating?” Sam asked, collecting himself. Losing himself in a fit of violence wasn’t something he had ever done before, but his father had always said that desperation changed a man. And Sam was getting pretty fucking desperate. 

She waved the Assassin over, offering him her bottle of wine. He accepted gratefully. 

“I’ve never seen it this bad. Normally the rest of the Guild, even the low-level thieves, have some sort of a say. Now it’s just Leviathans, and whatever Dick wants.” She said. Sam smiled.

“So you’re with them then? The Guild, I mean. You’re not just a barmaid.” It wasn’t a question. 

She nodded, tossing her braid over her shoulder and slugging back some more of the cheap wine. “Yep.” 

“It’s a good cover. Not too obvious,” Sam said, gesturing at her long dress. “I bet you end up getting a lot of unwanted attention.”

“All of it unwanted. How hard is it to land a decent putana around here anyway?” She grumbled. 

Sam nearly spit out his wine. “You like women?”

The young woman laughed. “What, I don’t look like the type? Don’t answer that,” she said, swatting Sam on the shoulder when he grinned at her. 

“Well, Thief, thank you again for the wine and the aid.” She nodded, and they shared the remainder of the bottle in silence. Then a thought occurred to Sam. 

“You hear things don’t you?”

“Well, I do have ears.” the thief grinned

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“I know,” she said. “You’re looking for your brother, right?”

“How did you know that?” Sam asked, surprised. 

She jerked her head towards Roman’s chambers down the alleyway. “You two weren’t exactly being clandestine up there.” Sam sighed. he should have been more measured with Roman, he could see that now. If Dean could see how badly he had botched that, Sam would have had a ringing in his ear for the next two days from the lecture he would have gotten. 

“What’s your name, Assassin?” 

Sam shouldn’t have given her his name, but he did it anyway. he did a lot of things he shouldn’t have these days. 

“Well, Sam. You can call me Charlie.” She said, standing up and giving him a mock bow. 

“That your real name?” He asked. Charlie shook her head. 

He sighed. “Of course not.”

“Sam, tell me exactly what happened to your brother. I’ll ask around. I’ve got some pigeons in different places in the city. Maybe I can help.” 

Sam thought about it. It was worth a shot--this girl and her word was the only possible lead that Sam had in tracking down Dean. 

What’s the worst that could happen? He thought to himself. When an Assassin worked with the Guild, they normally tried to keep in as little contact as possible. More often than not, one of the parties ended up dead, betrayed, or both. But Sam trusted this thief, which was one other thing Dean would have beaten him up over. 

“What do you want in return?” Sam asked suspiciously. 

“It’s never bad to have an Assassin in your debt. Let alone two, if we find your brother. How about you’ll owe me a favor?” She said with a sly smile. 

He took a deep breath. It was a fair trade.

“Okay, so get this…” And he told her his story.


	10. Broken Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's recovery is going not-so-quickly. Castiel and Dean talk and haVE A MOMENT OR TWO

Dean closed the book he had been reading for the last few hours and looked up. Castiel stood in the doorway of his small recovery room, blocking the torchlight from the hallway. Dean glared at him.

“How long have you been standing there, Cas?” Dean asked. The Templar moved almost silently: his stealth could match any Assassin that Dean had met. And he seemed to get a rise out of surprising Dean when he could. 

“About a minute,” Castiel said, his mouth turning up at one corner. “It’s interesting to watch you read. It’s almost like watching a blacksmith sew.”

“What, trained killers can’t enjoy the odd romance novel? Nice choice, by the way,” Dean said, waving the book at Castiel’s face.  
“I haven’t read it.”

“You should. I think you’d like it. A hero has to rescue this maiden from her family--they’ve enslaved her. There’s blood, sex, fighting. A bit stereotypical, but I’m not judging.” Castiel sat down on the stool next to Dean, moving the large stack of books to the floor. 

“How are you feeling today, Dean?” Castiel asked. 

Dean hadn’t thought of that yet. How did he feel… he attempted to wiggle his toes and flex his fingers. 

“On a scale of one to ten, Nurse Cas, I would put myself at a five today.”

The Templar nodded. “You’re getting better. And that’s not my name.” 

Dean laughed. “Yeah, and Dean isn’t my real name either. It’s a nickname, dummy. If it bothers you…” 

“It doesn’t.”

“Good. I was gonna keep calling you it anyway.” 

Castiel was quiet for a minute. “What’s your real name, then?” He asked. 

“Deangelo.” Dean said. “Don’t laugh.”

Castiel bit his lip and couldn’t help but laugh. “Ah yes. The angelic Assassins.” 

Dean ignored the jab. He wasn’t looking to go toe-to-toe with Castiel. If he was going to get out of this Templar prison, he would need help. And that relied heavily on staying on Castiel’s good side. 

“They called my father the Angel of Death, so my mother thought that it would be funny to name me after him.” Dean said with a shrug. “She was a woman of faith.”

Castiel cocked his head at Dean. “You’re not.”

“Do I look like a woman of faith to you?” Dean said, “I mean, sure, the romance novel, but…”

“That’s not what I--” 

Dean held up a hand to stop him, taking a deep breath . “I used to believe, I guess. Maybe I still do, you know, believe that there’s someone out there, or something. Beyond all this “Pieces of Eden” crap, I mean.” Dean said. Castiel leaned forward on his stool, slightly-mismatched blue eyes drilling into Dean’s. 

Dean stopped. He shouldn’t have mentioned the Pieces of Eden. He was getting sloppy. 

He continued quickly, trying to put as much distance between them and any discussion of the First Civilization as possible. “I don’t know, amico. I guess I believe that there is a God out there, and sure, if that means angels and demons and Hell and Heaven, bring it on. But I don’t know if God believes in us. And that is something scary.”

Castiel nodded, saying nothing. Dean couldn’t read the Templar’s blank face, couldn’t trace any emotion or thoughts across the lines beneath his eyes.

“How is your leg?” Castiel asked, nodding towards the purply-blue skin of Dean’s right leg. It emerged from Dean’s loose-fitting nightshirt at a slightly odd angle. 

“The same. Still can’t move it. Whenever I ask Wrinkles about it, she just tells me to stuff it and that it will heal on it’s own time.” Dean said. 

Castiel stood up, facing the small, high window in the wall opposite Dean’s bed. 

Dean narrowed his eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?” 

Castiel turned to face him, and the sadness in his eyes startled Dean. There was something else there too...pity.

"Spit it out, Cas. Please." 

“Dean, the damage that Crowli did to your leg...the nurses don’t think that they can fix it. They say,” Castiel looked away. “You won’t ever be able to walk again.”

Dean didn’t breathe. He looked down at his broken limb, part of the body that he had trusted and built and bled from and trained to respond and react in the way that he wanted. His body was his instrument, his tool, his partner. He could use it to kill, to maim, to run and jump and fly, to influence history and save lives. Without it, how would he protect what was important to him? Sam, Robi, Ellen, Jo...they had been taken from him. His world had been taken from him.

“Dean.” Castiel said. The Templar reached out, resting a hand on Dean’s shoulder awkwardly. Dean thought briefly about shrugging it off, but discarded the thought. 

“Cas, what do you want from me? What does anyone want from me anymore! I mean, really. What can I possibly offer? Are you keeping me here out of some sick vengeance? Some Assassin/Templar hatred? I’m nothing now. I can’t even move.” Dean’s voice shook.

Castiel gripped Dean’s shoulder, then released it. “They want information, Dean. And when they get what they want out of you, Gabriel and Michael will have you executed.”

Dean considered this. “You’re not supposed to tell me that.” 

“No, I’m not.” 

Dean grinned sourly “Great pep talk, Cas. Very comforting.”

“I’m a real people person.” Castiel said with a little wink. 

Dean laughed hard, so hard that his bruised sides hurt. “Ouch. You Templars always get me in the end, don’t you?” 

“If nothing else, we are persistent.”

The two were quiet for another minute. 

“So why tell me this, then? I have no hope of escape, or even of surviving if what you say is true. I’ll die down here, one way or another.” Dean said.

“I don’t know. Maybe it seems like a waste, maybe it’s an injustice. Maybe Gabriel and Michael have the wrong idea. Maybe not. Or maybe they’re right. Maybe you do need to die. I just don’t know, Dean. But I do know this. I am not a simple weapon for them to use. I’m not a sword, not a hammer. I believe in the Order, and I would never betray her. But this...this seems wrong. I don’t envy you, Dean.” 

Dean nodded. Castiel moved the books back to the stool, and made his way towards the door. He stopped in the doorway. “I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner. Maybe if I had been a little quicker.”

“Don’t. This isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have let my stupid ass get caught. I am grateful, Cas. Don’t get me wrong. But movement, motion...that’s my life. That’s how I’m free. Without that, I just don’t feel like myself.” 

Castiel nodded solemnly. “For what it’s worth, I believe you’re far more than just a set of legs and a blade, Dean.”

He left Dean alone in his recovery room, a fresh torture chamber for a different kind of pain. 

\------

The wrinkly old nurse brought him a glass of water and a tough loaf of bread, which Dean thanked her for. “Grazie, Madonna.” he said, bowing to her from his hospital bed. 

\------

 

Later that night, the evening watch found Dean dragging a jagged shard of the broken glass across his wrists.


	11. Meanwhile, Back At The Villa...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo and Robi discuss the future of the Brotherhood; two new Assassins visit Monteriggioni from the Far East.

Jo followed Robi down the marble stairs, descending into the crypt that had long existed beneath the Villa at Monteriggioni. Her stepfather had slid aside one of the false bookshelves in his office to reveal the portal that she secretly already knew existed. Five years ago, Dean had taught Jo to look for secret passageways and false backs to wardrobes, and then he advised her to test out her new skills on the Villa. “More secrets here than truths, Jo,” he has said, winking and ruffling her hair. She had jabbed at him, catching him not in between his legs as she had hoped, but instead on his hip as he turned away from her. 

And so she had felt along the walls in her stepfather’s study late one night, careful to avoid the loose papers, empty bottles, and open books spread on desks and tables throughout the room. Jo’s hand stopped near one of the bookshelves: a cool, very slight draft was coming from the ancient leather-bound books. She tested her weight against it: The bookshelf rolled inward to reveal a dark, torch-lit marble staircase. 

Jo had to pretend that she hadn’t been here before, when Robi decided to reveal it to her. The enormous chamber, the large marble statues of ancient Assassins, the sheer vastness of the domed ceiling were all very familiar. She had been coming down here often for years. It was one of the few places in the Villa that she thought of as hers and hers alone. Seeing Robi present it to her as if she didn’t know her own home made her stomach twist. 

“You’ve been down here before, Jo, haven’t you?” Robi asked after a while. Jo walked over to the statue of Iltani, the Babylonian Assassin, brushing her fingers across the seal at the base of the gossamer-draped marble woman. 

“Maybe.” Jo said. “Why shouldn’t I have? This is my home as much as it is anyone else’s,” Jo said. She was expecting Robi to lecture her on going behind his back, or meddling in things that she shouldn’t. Instead, he chuckled and crossed the space between them, wrapping her in a tight hug. Surprised, Jo hugged him back, burying her face in his shoulder. He pulled away, holding her shoulders and beaming. 

“Jo, you did exactly what any of these Assassins would have done,” Robi said, gesturing towards the statues around them. “You saw what was hidden from sight, you took the initiative. Which is why I decided to show you this chamber in the first place.” He took a deep breath. “Jo, I want you to take over the Villa for me. The Brotherhood, the trainees, the management: everything.”

“What?” Jo said, dumbstruck. “You want me to be the mentor of Firenze? Of Italia?” While the Brotherhood accepted women as Assassins, having a female mentor was as yet unheard of. 

Robi nodded, releasing her shoulder. 

 

“But wouldn’t Sam or Dean be a better fit?” 

“I’ve thought about this for a long time, Jo. And for a while I thought, maybe Dean. He’s whip-smart, even if he doesn’t always show it, and besides being one of our greatest fighters, has an unshakable moral compass. Or maybe Sam, with the stealth skills and fighting prowess of Altair himself. Cross him, and it will be the last thing you ever do. Both boys have a leader’s heart.” Robi said. Jo nodded. 

Robi continued. “But they weren’t born to lead. They need to be out there, in the field, doing the dirty work. That’s what they’re good at.” 

“So, what, I’m not good at that stuff either?” Jo snapped. She hadn’t meant meant for that to come out so harsh, or to sound so defensive.

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Robi said, opening his palms to her in a gesture of transparency. “Jo, you have graduated to the level of a fully fledged member of the order. I trust you to carry out any mission that I would assign to any Assassin in Monteriggioni.”

Jo was quiet. “So why me, then?” 

Robi smiled at her then, and turned to examine the statues of the great Assassins. “Because you’re your mother’s daughter, Johanna. Because I trust you with the work of centuries. You are a leader, and here you can do what Sam and Dean cannot.”

Jo was taken aback. She had not expected to be offered this, Robi’s position as mentor. It had always just been something that she assumed: Sam and Dean would eventually take over after Robi died. It had been true before their father died, and it had seemed true after he passed.

“So, whaddaya say?” Robi asked, stopping before the statue of Altair. He swept his arm around, encompassing the statues of the great Assassins around them. 

Jo took a deep breath. “Ye-yes. I mean, I accept, of course. It would be an honor.”

Robi’s smile grew even wider, and he hugged her again, releasing her after a few strong back-pats. 

“Good. I’m not planning on kicking the bucket anytime soon, but it never hurts to start early. There’s a lot you need to learn if you’re gonna fill my boots.”

\---- 

They had had that conversation a month ago, before Dean had gone missing, and before Sam and Robi had gone chasing him. The Villa had been quiet for most of those weeks, with Jo and Ellen overseeing the few trainees in the practice yard. Just yesterday, however, they had been visited by an envoy of Assassins from the Far East. Every so often, some members of the brotherhood would travel the continents, bringing news and sharing skills from distant lands.

Jo rolled out of bed, donning a flowy shirt and black breeches. She headed downstairs to the kitchen, surprised to see one of the two foreign Assassins sitting alone at the Villa’s long kitchen table. She greeted him, immediately heading for the food Ellen had left for her. 

The visiting Assassin and her son hailed from China, though the boy spoke almost perfect Italian. 

“My father studied in Venice when he was a young man--he was a dottore, you know. He thought that the Venetians had some new technology, some new methods for dealing with pain that hadn’t made it to the Orient yet. He taught me what he could.” The boy said, when she asked. He looked to be about Jo’s age: somewhere between eighteen and twenty years old, and his smile was blinding. They wore modified Assassin’s robes, hooded and padded for riding and traveling. 

“You never thought of becoming a doctor like your father?” Jo asked, ladeling herself a bowl of porridge. 

He smiled. “I did, actually. I’m apprenticed under him, as I am under my mother.”

Jo raised an eyebrow. “ A killer and a doctor, all in one? That sounds like..”

“A paradox?” The boy challenged. Jo grinned. He was used to people criticising his life choices, maybe even his parents themselves. 

“I was going to say it sounds like a lot of work,” Jo said, sitting across the long oak table from him. Jo dug through her memory for the Assassin’s names….Tran. 

“Yeah, well. It’s worth it, and I can handle it.” he said, pulling a piece of bread from a loaf in between the two teenagers and their mothers, the four trained killers. “I just finished my training in the Brotherhood, and my father just started me on advanced surgeries.”

Jo snorted. “How much sleep do you get at night, Tran?” 

“At least four hours, generally. Probably about as much as you get. And call me Kevin.”

Joe sipped orange juice out of a clay mug. “That’s not your real name.” 

“No, it’s what my little sister called me. She couldn’t pronounce my name when she was young--speech impediment. So she called me Kevin. I’m assuming your first name isn’t really Jo.”

“Johanna,” Jo said, reaching across the table and holding out her hand. Kevin smiled and shook it. 

\------

Jo dragged Kevin Tran across the grounds of the Villa while their mothers led the training sessions in the training ring out front. After two hours of walking through the village, talking with the business owners and playing with some of the children on the street (Kevin was alarmingly terrible at the simple game of kickball the children of Monterrigioni played, though he could juggle the ball from knee to knee fantastically) Kevin tapped Jo on the forearm. 

“I probably should get back to reading, Jo. I was just getting into this really interesting study on the way our brains work, it was actually by Leonardo Da Vinci, you know, he was a friend of the Brotherhood. Like brothers, he and Ezio, some say…” Kevin said animatedly.

Jo listened idly, leading him back up the steps to the Villa. It’s not that she wasn’t interested; she just didn’t think she had anything to contribute to Kevin’s explanation. That, and she found listening to his voice oddly soothing. They moved past their mothers, who both currently had an apprentice each in a headlock. They waved to their children happily, keeping their students locked in a death grip.

The two stopped at the front door of the Villa, standing there awkwardly for a moment. Then a thought struck Jo. 

“Kevin, why don’t you go grab your brain journals and meet me back out here? I’ve got a good quiet spot--nobody will bother us there.” 

Kevin blinked and grinned, nodding. “Be right back,” he said, nearly tripping over his feet on his way to his guest chamber. He returned a moment later, with three thick journals. he waved them at her. “Where to now, madonna?” he said, bowing a little.

Jo grinned, hiding a blush by flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder to hide her expression. She pointed to the roof of the villa. Two stories up to the main roof, then another two stories up the central attic of the manor. 

“Can you handle that climb?” Jo asked, turning. She could see Kevin’s eyes tracking a path across the thin pillars and window sills. 

He laughed. “No problem.” He said, slipping the books inside the front pocket of his robes. “Meet you up there!” Kevin jumped forward, catching hold of a loose brick and vaulting off of a windowsill. 

“Not likely,” Jo said, squeezing between two of the skinny pillars, working her way up between the two columns.

The two Assassins made it to the top of the Villa at the same time, rolling onto the tiled roof laughing and panting with the effort it had taken to get to the coveted roof spot. The sun warmed tiled burned through Jo’s thin shirt, warming her body. Kevin rolled up to sitting, his hair disheveled and eyes alight. 

Jo suddenly closed the space between them, pressing her lips against his own. He fell back a little, surprised, nearly stumbling back off of the roof. Jo grabbed his arm, pulling him back onto the roof and towards her. He laughed against her mouth, and leaned towards her. They broke apart after a minute. 

Jo smiled at the paradoxical Assassin, giggling. She couldn’t remember the last time she had giggled like some lovesick school girl. Kevin grinned back, swallowing. 

"Sorry, that was really forward of me..." 

"No!" Kevin said quickly. "That was...really nice, actually." 

They spent the rest of the sunny afternoon on the roof, and Kevin did eventually make his way through Da Vinci’s studies on the human brain, while Jo slept in the sunlight beside him, her head on his thigh. He ran his hands through her hair absentmindedly, watching the clouds and the landscape change around him.


	12. And I'll Do It Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Dean's suicidal episode, Castiel tries to cheer him up, or at least keep him from killing himself.

“Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel said, walking into the recovery room with a new Templar in tow. Dean sat up, eyeing the blond man suspiciously. In the two weeks that he had been stuck in the recovery room in god-knows-where, he had only interacted with Wrinkles the nurse,Castiel, and the night guard who patrolled the hallways--the one who had found him slicing his wrists. Dean glared down at his bandaged forearms at the thought. He had been so close, so close to getting out of it.

“You’re right, Cassie, he does look pretty bad,” the Templar said, a British accent coloring his language. 

“Hey!” Dean protested. “Don’t tell me I’m not pretty. Might hurt my self-confidence.” he said with a bitter grin. 

“Dean, this is Balthazar. He helped get you out of the Guarda prison,” Castiel said, taking the crate from Balthazar and setting it on the stool next to Dean’s bed. 

Dean nodded at Balthazar, sarcasm pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, yeah, thanks for that. Both of you guys saving my life? Thanks a whole lot. Just so you can, what, kill me down here yourselves?” Dean was shouting now, eyes flicking from Balthazar to Castiel. Cas avoided his gaze. 

Balthazar chuckled. “Hoo, you weren’t wrong about him.” He said, turning to Castiel. He walked out of the room, pausing before he left. “The only reason we saved your sorry ass is because it was our mission. You would do better to respect us.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes. “What do you want, Cas? If this is about me trying to kill myself--”

“It’s not,” Cas interrupted. “Balthazar was able to retrieve your belongings from the cell you were held in.” He gestured to the box on the stool. 

Dean sat up, rummaging through the crate. His gray-and black flecked Assassin robes, cape, hidden blades, boots, and coinpurse. Dean dug through the pockets. Even his stock of darts, smoke bombs, and poison was intact. He shook his head.

“Why are you giving this to me, Cas?” Dean asked the Templar. 

Castiel didn’t respond. 

“Is this about me trying to off myself?”

“It’s my job to keep you alive, Dean. And I failed. I don’t know. I just thought...” Cas trailed off. “I thought that maybe if you had some of your valuables you would be less likely--”  
“--To kill myself?”

“Stop, Dean.” 

“Well, let me tell you something, figlio di un cane,” Dean said, propping himself up on his elbows. “You’ve just handed me a box of weapons that I have been using to kill people for years. And you think that this is going to somehow stop me from killing myself?”

Castiel gave a slight shrug. “Get dressed, Dean.”

“Yeah, and why should I?” 

Cas’s eyes softened. “We’re going outside.”

\-------

It took them twenty minutes to get up the stairs. Dean leaned on a gnarled cane that the wrinkly old nurse had found, while Castiel supported his left side. Dean tried to take the stairs on his own at first, pushing the Templar away when he offered his help. After they had been stuck on the first ten steps for three minutes, Castiel ducked under Dean’s outstretched arm that was currently slipping off of the cobbled wall. Dean cussed, but Castiel shifted most of the Assassin’s weight onto his own shoulders. Both of them made their way up the stairs, going much quicker.

“Cas, I don’t have much dignity left here. Can’t you just let me do this on my own?” Dean asked. He was grateful for the Templar’s help, but he had been laid low by his organization in every way possible. They hadn’t even left him the agency to kill himself, keeping him imprisoned beneath their headquarters: forgotten behind enemy lines. His pride had been stripped away from him, in the Guarda’s prison and now here. 

“I raised you from perdition once, Dean. I’ll do it again. You forget that I dragged you across half the city before we got here.” 

Dean filed that information away: halfway across the city from the central guardhouse. And what had Cas said earlier, about them being beneath a derelict church? Dean was beginning to formulate an idea of where in the city they were… He stumbled on one of the final steps, leaning further into Cas’ 

They emerged from the tunnels into a dusty looking office. Castiel released Dean’s shoulder gently; Dean tested his weight on his leg, taking a step. He fell forward, catching himself. WIth the cane, it would work. He followed Cas, limping through a side door and into the blinding sunlight of a Firenze evening.

The courtyard of the church was empty apart from two apprentices practicing their swordwork. A row of tall spindly olive and cypress trees ringed the courtyard, casting long shadows across the neatly trimmed grass. A marble statue of the Virgin Mary dominated the center of the courtyard. 

Cas led Dean over to one of the larger trees, sitting down in the shadow of the olive tree. Dean tugged at his robes, the familiar clothes now hung from his shoulders and piled around his waist. Dean lowered himself to the ground across from Cas, stretching out in the sunlight. He sighed contentedly, imagining that he was relaxing on the back lawn of Monteriggioni with Sam next to him instead of this strange Templar, who had shown Dean nothing but kindness. Why is he doing this? Dean thought. He didn’t say it aloud. 

Dean stared up at the clouds, stretching his arms out to his sides. “God, I missed this.” 

Cas smiled, leaning back on his elbows. “This is my favorite place in the Order’s base. It’s often loud during the morning hours: many enjoy sparring outside before accomplishing the day’s tasks. But in the evenings and at night, it’s…” 

Dean looked over at Cas, the lines in the Templar’s face relaxed and his eyes closed. 

“Perfect.” Dean said.

“Yes.” Cas responded, smiling and keeping his eyes closed. 

The two men laid in the setting sun, the only sound to break the silence the clatter of sword-on-sword across the courtyard. For the first time since Dean and Sam had left the library in Firenze, Dean felt completely calm. He reached across the distance between them, gently touching the Templar’s hand.

“Thanks for this, Cas.”


	13. Temporary Incarceration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thief Charlie seeks the truth about what happened to Sam's brother. What she learns is unsettling.

The thief stole through the darkness of the moonless night; her grey leggings and tight padded shirt hugged close to her body, allowing both for freedom of motion and little air resistance. She had never understood why the Assassins always wore such bulky, trailing robes: all tails and sashes weighing them down and pulling them back. Sure, they looked grand, flying through the air and across the ground, robes flapping behind them like some great bird’s feathers. 

But her way was much easier. She adjusted the cowl around her face and hair, so that her face was hidden without obstructing her vision. She spun her weapon: About as long as her arm, the long wooden rod terminated in a scythed blade, unlike a shepherd’s crook. She had won it off of an alcoholic ambassador that had unfortunately found himself washed up at the Sunken Riverboat one night. That poor man had walked in like a king, embroidered raiments and coin purses hanging visibly at his belt. He had woken up, naked and penniless, stuck to the bar’s floor. The thief wasn’t sorry: she had won his weapon off of him in a fair game of chance. Fair enough, anyway. 

Charlie ran silently down the alley street, skipping her way up a few bulky crates on their side in the cobbled street. She vaulted off of the tallest crate, swung her hooked blade out, and caught the lip of the roof of the building blocking her way. She dangled there for only a second, quickly walking her feet up the side of the wall and pulling herself up onto the tiled roof. She continued quickly towards her destination, mainly sticking to the roofs and upper levels of the city. She didn’t want to get caught by any of the guard. Well, not yet at least.

She had spoken to every contact close to the guard that she had, and none of them seemed to know anything about the missing Assassin, Sam’s brother. The other thieves, guards, and childhood friends Charlie had in her pocket had sworn they hadn’t heard anything, noticed anything suspicious, that they hadn’t sensed any strange changes in the city. Things are changing, was what one of her best friends in the guild had said, refusing to meet her eyes. It’s probably best if we keep to ourselves until this all shakes out, he said. And it probably would be better for her health to stay out of Assassin/Templar conflicts: history showed that side parties to conflicts between them often ended up dead. 

But helping out the Assassins now meant that they would owe her a favor. And Charlie knew how valuable it would be to have a team of trained killers at her disposal. That, and she kind of felt bad for Sam. She knew well the grief of guilt; her own parents had died when she was young, attacked by a troupe of robbers while on their way to pick her up from a friend’s home. Sam had looked so broken, after he explained how his brother was taken right out from under him in the middle of a mission, how Dean had taken the Guard on to give Sam time to escape. Sam loved his brother fiercely, and the guilt of his capture was steadily eating away at the Assassin. That much was obvious. Charlie had left him to drown his guilt in cheap liquor at the RIverboat, with firm directions to the barmaids and thieves to leave him be--he was under her protection, for now at least. 

Charlie stopped her trek across the rooftops, catching her breath. She stood behind a skinny-looking member of the guard, a young man who lazily watched the marketplace below him. It was empty, apart from one other posting of two guards across the square from him. He leaned against the support of the rail, fighting to keep his eyes open. This will be fun, Charlie thought. She dropped onto the railing beside him, pulling her cowl down and shouting “Boo!” in the poor boy’s startled face. She laughed, leaning forward and snatching his coinpurse from his belt. Charlie laughed in his face, trilling over her shoulder as she dug her hook into the corner of the building, swinging her way down to the empty market street below them. 

“You’ll never catch me!” She shouted, jogging through the square and right into the two waiting guards. They drew their swords, looking a little surprised. 

“Stop, thief!” One of the two guards managed to stammer. The other brandished his sword at Charlie. She held her arms in the air, one hand still clutching the guard’s pitifully light purse. 

“Oh, no, please let me go. I’m so sorry, I’ll never do it again.” she begged dramatically. The two guards shared a look--perhaps they had detected her sarcasm. 

“Normally we would, fine upstanding citizen like you, but there’s a new Captain in town. And he’s a bit of a hardass. Runs the goddamn guard like it’s a business or something.” 

The other guard nodded. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to take you in, thief.” He did sound genuinely disappointed: this meant more work for him tonight, and perhaps he would get home a little later for having to record her arrest. 

Charlie struggled a bit, enough to make it seem believable that she didn’t want to ga anywhere near the Guardhouse or it’s prison. The two guards tied her hands and led her through the city and towards the massive, four-story building that housed the guard and it’s prisoners in this district of the city.

Since this was the guardhouse closest to the library Dean was captured in, Charlie was banking on the guard taking him here. There was the more prominent Palazzo della Signoria, but Charlie doubted that they would have taken the Assassin there--too close to the central operation. If he had escaped, the amount of intel he could have gathered from the Palazzo would have been...well, it would probably have put the Guarda out of business for a little while. If Charlie was in charge, she never would have taken that chance. She would have made sure to put him far away from anything he could use against her, in an unassuming, unimportant prison cell. One she was heading directly towards. 

The two guard led her inside, nodding at their fellow watchmen. They pushed her down a set of stairs while she begged for their mercy, leading her through a dank hallway lined with cells full of drunkards and a few bored-looking drifters. A few of them she recognized, shooting them looks that said “acknowledge me and die” 

One of the guards pushed her into an empty cell. “Special treatment, love. You’re the only putana tonight, so you get a cell all to yourself.” He patted her down, searching for the weapons she had hidden on her person. She hadn’t brought her usual stock of boot knives, poison, or daggers, but she did have one small blade hidden in a nearly-invisible sheath along her forearm.  
The guard groped her body, finding the knife and grinning. He thought he had done a good job, she thought. How cute. Charile fought hard not to snicker as his friend congratulated him.

“Good one, Benito.” They took her knife and hook, locking the cell behind them. Apart from a straw pallet and a torch on the wall, the cell was empty, though it did smell strongly of urine. 

As soon as the guards’ footsteps receded back down the hall, Charlie let out the laughter that she had been holding in for the last twenty minutes. The new leader of the guard might be a hardass, but the city watch would always be full of idiots. She tugged at her braid, pulling a pair of lock picks from the red plait. 

“Amateurs,” she murmured under her breath, digging the picks into the lock. After a minute of fiddling, the tumblers slid into place. She swung the door open with a grin.

\---

Charlie slunk through the prison, sticking to the shadows and avoiding the lanterns and torches hung intermittently throughout the prison. She made her way past the imprisoned drunkards and thieves, holding a finger to her lips as she passed. They understood: If they called for the guards, they would be dead by the time the watch made it down the stairs. 

Charlie crept up the stairs, careful not to disturb any of the loose steps that she had noted on her way down. One guard remained in the entrance chamber, collapsed against the large wooden desk beside the staircase. His balding head was resting on his folded forearms. he was snoring contentedly. Can no one around here do their job? Charlie wondered. 

Suddenly, the door to the guardhouse opened. Charlie ducked beside the heavy desk, leaning her body against the it’s side. The balding desk guard jolted awake, standing up.

‘Please, don’t stand on my behalf,” A man’s voice said, calmly. The balding desk guard sank back into his chair slowly. 

“Captain Crowli, sir.” He mumbled. Charlie could feel him nervously tapping the desk 

Footsteps meandered towards the balding guard, towards Charlie. She remained absolutely still, breathing quietly. 

“Rocco, isn’t it?” Crowli said. Rocco gulped, and Charlie assumed that he nodded. Behind her to the left sat the quaking guard; to her right the composed Guard Captain. Charlie could also her another person in the room, a standing quietly a bit behind Crowli, simply watching the exchange. If she looked over her shoulder at what was happening, everyone in the room would be able to see her. 

“Well, Rocco, can you tell me what the purpose of the Guarda is?” the Captain asked, his smooth voice betraying no emotion in the man. A Scottish accent colored his language. 

Rocco thought about the question for a moment, responding, “Our job is to protect and serve the people of Firenze by upholding the law, and punishing those who break it, Captain.”

Crowli leaned onto the desk then, and calmly said “Now then Rocco, tell me how bloody well,” Crowli's voice lifted, he was shouting now “how bloody well you can manage to uphold the law when you can’t even hold your own head up!? This city is ridiculous. God, I miss the highlands. None of this bullshit there.” He slammed his palms down on Rocco’s desk. 

“Strive to do better in the future, Rocco, or you’ll need to consider employment elsewhere.” he said, turning to leave. “No, wait. On second thought, I have no room for people like you. Consider your employment terminated.” The desk jolted, and Rocco gasped. The balding guard choked for a moment, slumping forward over the desk. 

“Please, Michael. If you’ll follow me,” Crowli said, and Charlie heard him wiping a blade against the dead guard’s tunic. 

“Of course,” The other man in the room said, and the footsteps of the Guard Captain and his mysterious guest receded across the room and into a hallway. Only after all had gone silent did Charlie let out the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. The night watch certainly hadn’t been wrong, Crowli meant business. And he seemed a bit of a madman. 

Charlie ducked around Rocco’s body, catching sight of a jumble of valuables, clothes, and weapons. “Prisoner Belongings” read a worn plaque on the wall above the mess. Charlie dug through the pile, pulling out both her knife and her hook. 

Charlie’s eyes flashed between the door leading out into the cool Florence night, and the hallway that Crowli and Michael had disappeared down. She froze for a moment, deliberating, then she slung her hook into its sheath on her back, her decision made.

She made her way down the hallway, her ears pricked for any noise. She passed another stairwell leading down, one leading up, a few empty-looking offices and lounge rooms, then stopped. At the end of the hallway, she heard voices coming from behind a closed door. Charlie approached the door, pressing her ear against the knotted wood.

“I don’t blame you, Captain. If there was such a thing as laziness among my Order, I would have dealt with it in much the same way you did.” the man Crowli had called Michael said, his voice unnervingly soothing. 

“Yes, well, my men are not used to the sort of soldiering your kind are on about. Which brings me to why I wanted to meet with you, Michael. It wasn’t just for tea and gossip.”

Michael was silent. Crowli went on, “I let that Assassin that I captured slide, I let your people take him right out from under me. He was mine, and I could have gotten more information out of him.” 

“Our new partnership ensures that any information you require, you have merely to ask for it.” Michael said. 

“Then tell me about the Ones Who Came Before, the Pieces of Eden. I want in.”

“No.”

“Ah, no, he says” Crowli mocked. “Well then if you don’t tell me, I have to resort to torturing ‘em then don’t I?”

“I have no issue with you inflicting pain on any Assassin, Crowli. You misunderstand me. What I mean to say is that if you want to continue to ally the force of the Florentine Guard with the Templar Order, you must drop this crusade. The fight is not yours, and you have no right to think yourself part of a conflict as old as creation itself.” Michael said, his voice firm. 

“Or what?” Crowli asked loudly. “You’ll kill me?”

“If I must, but I don’t think that it will come to that. You’re a smart man, Crowli, smarter than you look.”

“Ooh, I’m starting to blush. I do love it when you compliment me.” Crowli said, deadpan. Charlie fought not to snort. 

Michael was quiet for a minute, ignoring Crowli’s last comment. “So then, what do you really want to discuss, Captain?” 

Charlie heard the soft *fwoomp* of someone sitting down in a soft chair, probably Crowli. “There’s an infestation of paupers creeping closer and closer to some of the more affluent homes in Florence, and I was hoping for some knightly aid in clearing out the buggers.”

“You want to use Knights of the Order to murder squatters.” It was a statement, not a question. 

“All great partnerships start small, you know. Think of it as reparation for stealing my Assassin away from me. We’re even then, eh?” Crowli said. 

“Even? A partnership implies compromise. You have the aid of the Order in this, Crowli. But know that I do not normally condone bloodshed of this magnitude. However, your forces seem to be in such a mess that you won’t be able to handle this simple task on your own.” Michael said. Charlie had to agree: if all of Crowli’s forces were like the Guarda she had seen this evening, any sort of organized combat would be impossible for Crowli’s forces to win, even against paupers. 

“Don’t inflate my ego too much there, mate, ” Crowli said. “I would like to start the operation in three days time; is that enough for you to get your boys ready?”

“Three days.” Michael said approvingly. 

“Your place, or mine?” Crowli asked.

“Bring your forces to the ruins of Santa Carlotta before midnight. We will be ready for you there.” 

Michael stood up, and Charlie immediately realized that soon, the Templar would be crashing through the door she was now leaning against. She bolted from the hallway as quietly as she could, praying that the two men hadn’t heard her. She pushed her way outside the Prison, the cool light of dawn washing over her face. 

She had much to think about, and much to tell Sam. She ran through the slumbering city as if hellhounds nipped at her feet, not stopping until she had closed the door of the Sunken Riverboat behind her.


	14. Allies and Schemes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Charlie discuss what she overheard at the Guardhouse; Gabriel confronts Castiel about what he has discovered from Dean.

Sam was running across rooftops in Florence, dodging missing tiles and leaping from building to building. The sky above was cloudy; it was about to rain, he could feel it in the air. The heavy humidity pressing in on all sides was suffocating. Sam tried to ignore the weather, focusing on the hooded man in front of him, calling after his brother. 

“Dean, slow down! I just want to talk,” Sam yelled. His brother didn’t respond, instead whirling to the left and pulling himself up the side of a chapel that had seen better years. Sam followed him, dodging loose bricks and rotting wood. Dean had always been a better climber than him. But Sam made up for it with the extra distance his height gave him. He tackled his brother to the ground, pinning the hooded Assassin to the ground. 

“Alright, you son of a bitch, where…” Sam began, then stopped. His brother’s hood fell back, revealing a man Sam had never seen before. He had dark hair and deep lines beneath his icy blue eyes. The man grinned at him wickedly, cocking his head. 

“I am not your brother, Sam.” the man said, leaning up towards Sam. He pulled the Assassin close to him violently.

A sharp pain cut through Sam’s confusion. He looked down at his stomach: a silver blade was buried, hilt deep, in his gut. The ice-eyed man grinned, pushing Sam off of him. The Assassin gasped, trying to keep himself from rolling onto his back. He coughed, blood dribbling from his mouth. The man leaned over Sam’s bleeding body, and pulled the blade out of the Assassin in one swift motion. Sam cried out as all the blood that the knife had been blocking spilled out from between his fingers. 

The dark haired man leaned over him, Dean’s robes flapping in the gentle breeze. Sam raised his bloodied hand above him in a pitiful gesture.

“Please,” Sam begged. “Don’t--” 

“Requiescat in pace, Sam,” he said, raising his blade once more and driving it into Sam’s heart. 

 

Sam jolted awake, clutching his heart and twisting his wrist, awaiting a weapon that he didn’t have. Sunlight streamed through the window opposite the bed he had passed out in, and his memories rushed back to him. 

It was just a dream.

He had fallen asleep in one of the few rental rooms that made up the Sunken Riverboat’s inn after a night of quiet drinking. The thieves guild center was used mainly for gatherings and information sharing--no thief would dare have a base of operations so close to the Guild, or the Leviathans. And Charlie had told him that she would spread the word that he was under her protection, so he didn’t fear anyone going through his pockets while he slept. Sam had no idea where his new friend ranked in the guild: but she claimed that she was set-up enough to have contacts who might know where Dean was. Sam made a mental note to ask Charlie about her role in the guild, rolling out of bed. He made his way towards the dented wash basin in one corner of the room. Sam splashed his face with the lukewarm water, sighing as the touch of the water pushed the last remnants of sleep and dreams from his eyes. 

There was a loud bang at the door, which Sam answered, realizing he was only wearing his trousers after he opened it. It was Charlie--dressed all in black, waves of anxiety rolling off of her. Sam waved her inside. 

“Rough night?” he asked, pulling an undershirt on. She nodded, sitting down on the bed. 

“Understatement. It was very educational, though.”  
Sam smiled. “Me too. I had the craziest dream…”

“Focus, Sam. I know where Dean is.” Charlie said, stripping off her boots and gloves. 

“You do? What?! Where is he?” Sam asked, sitting down on the bed next to her. 

“One thing at a time, amico,” Charlie said. “None of my normal contacts with the Guard would talk--some of even my closest friends. The new Captain, Crowli, he desperately wants to get the Guard into fighting shape. So much so that he’s made a deal with your Templars.”

Sam nodded, furrowing his brow. It was just like the Templars to ally with the local law. 

“Makes sense. How’d you find that out?”

“I got myself captured,” Charlie shifted on the bed, leaning against the wall it was pressed against. Sam opened his mouth to protest. “Petty theft. I’ve done it tons of times before, Sam. I know what I’m doing. This was no different. Well, not exactly; Crowli did kill one of his own Guard while I was hiding not two feet away. That was different,” she laughed nervously. 

Sam gave her a look. Charlie continued with her tale

“Right, so Crowli had a guest, and I followed them, overheard some things.” 

“Did they notice you were there?” Sam asked

“Uh, I don’t think so.” She replied. Sam gave her another look.

“But this is what I found out. Crowli’s working with a Templar, goes by the name of Michael. Dean was being held by the Guard, and they tortured him. Oh, and Crowli’s after information about “Pieces of Eden”, do you know what that means?” 

Sam nodded. “It means if Crowli and Michael are going to work together, we’re all in danger. They’re playing with fire.” 

Charlie bit her lip, debating whether or not to press Sam on the topic of the Pieces of Eden.

“What else, Charlie?” Sam asked, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

“The Templars kidnapped Dean from the Guard, before they formed their alliance. Their headquarters is in the ruins of Santa Carlotta, and I bet that’s where they’re keeping Dean.”

Eyes flashing, Sam stood up from the bed, grabbing his navy robes and pulling them over his head. “Then that’s where I need to go.”  
“Wait, Sam, there’s more. In three days, the combined forces of the Templars and the Guarda are going to cut their way through the homeless that have been getting close to the mercantile district. I’m guessing he’s targeting the area around the Mercato Vecchio--I’ve seen a lot of panhandling around there lately. People have started setting up makeshift shelters in the streets, and Crowli wants them gone. But his police force is shit, so he needs the strength of the Templars. They’re going to kill all those people, Sam.” She finished, taking a deep breath

Sam looked over his shoulder at her, his expression unreadable. Charlie held his gaze.

“A thief with a conscience?” He asked after a moment, smiling.

“Don’t talk to me about contradictory natures, Assassin.” Charlie said, raising an eyebrow.  
“We have to help them, Sam.” Charlie continued. “It’s the right thing to do, and you get to thrash some Templars. Everyone wins.” 

Sam thought about everything Charlie had said for a moment before answering. “I have to get Dean first. If the Templars have him...who knows how much information they’ve gotten out of him already. Or if he’s even alive anymore. Did this Michael say anything about whether Dean was still alive or not?” Sam asked.

“No, but from the way they were speaking I would assume he’s still kicking.”

Sam nodded. “If you help me spring Dean before then, both of us will fight with you to protect the people of this city.” 

Charlie stood up, gathering her boots and gloves. “Sounds good. I’ll try and drum up some support for our operation at the Mercato. Might be able to get some scabs to come along with us tonight, too.”

Sam nodded. Tonight. 

Charlie gave the Assassin a quick hug, to Sam’s surprise. “It’s going to be okay, Sam. We’ll get him out.” She patted him on the back, walking out of the room. 

“I’ll meet you outside at midnight. Stock up on whatever you need.” Charlie called over her shoulder as the door closed behind her. 

Sam finished dressing, sliding his wrist blades into place. he grabbed his purse, counting out his coins carefully. He needed to pick up a few things from the Market, and on the way he might get a better look at the situation with the panhandlers. 

He left the Riverboat, the memory of his dream still pulling at his consciousness. He shook his head, trying to push away the knot of nerves forming in his gut. I’m going to get him out, he thought to himself, making his way through the city. Even if it kills me. 

\------- 

Castiel sat uncomfortably in Gabriel’s private quarters, waiting for his superior to finish mixing a drink at his improvised bar. 

“Well, Lazarus rises, I guess,” Gabriel said, handing Castiel a glass of amber-colored liquid. Castiel knocked the drink back, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t gotten much sleep lately, even less than his normal 4-6 hours. 

“Yes, Dean has been able to walk, with aid. Which is promising for his recovery.” Castiel said.

“Ah, yes. His recovery,” Gabriel said, making air-quotes with his fingers at the word recovery. He sat down on the couch across from Castiel. Sarcasm dripped from every word. “I don’t know why you’re putting so much effort into getting him better, Castiel. We’re just going to kill him if we can’t get the information about the sage out of him.”

“Well, what if he doesn’t know? What if Dean never looked in the damn book? Are we just going to kill him then too?” Castiel snapped. “Is that justice, then? Is that righteousness, Gabriel? He is innocent.”

Gabriel cocked his head at his captain. “He is an Assassin. His hands are covered in innocent blood, probably more than yours. And you have never had problems killing innocents before. Your orders have always been enough for you, as they are enough for all of us. Having you off the battlefield may have softened your brain a little bit, Cassie.” 

“Cas or Castiel. Not Cassie.” Castiel said, finishing the rest of his drink. 

“Well then, Cas,” Gabriel said, stressing his nickname, twisting it in ways that made the hairs on the back of his neck prick up. “The word of your superiors has always been enough for you before. You are a soldier. You follow orders.”

“Now do you have any new information, or should I have Uriel take care of our Assassin? Do you have anything, really, that would justify his continued existence?” 

Cas bit his lip. He knew Gabriel wasn’t bluffing; if he didn’t come up with something, and quickly, Dean would be dead within the hour.

“Monteriggioni. That’s where the Assassin’s have their headquarters, and that is where Dean’s brother took the ledger.” 

“How do you figure?” Gabriel asked, kicking his legs up on the couch beside him. 

“He talks in his sleep sometimes.” Castiel said bitterly. 

“Ew, you watch him sleep? Creepy.” Gabriel said. Cas glared at him. Gabriel continued, “We had suspicions that the Assassins were using Monteriggioni as a base again, but we didn’t think they’d be so stupid to actually do it. The Order has run those rats out of that town in the past, we can do it again.” 

Castiel’s heart skipped a beat. “You’re planning on attacking the whole town?” 

Gabriel grinned. “Why not? Cesare Borgia did it, and pretty successfully too. We’ve got new connections, Castiel. With Crowli’s help…”

“We’re working with the Guard now? The very people we had to save Dean from?!” Castiel interrupted, nearly shouting at his superior. 

“You have a very loose definition of the word save, Castiel.” Gabriel said quietly. “And besides, it’s all water under the bridge now. A new partnership can mend all kinds of silly wounds.” Gabriel bounced his eyebrows at Cas. 

“I’ll not be a part of it, Gabriel.” Castiel said. “This is not right.”

“Sure it is! We need the information, we need the sage, we need to unlock the knowledge that the sage has. It’s necessary. We do what is necessary. We always have. And you will be a part of the force that attacks their rat’s nest. Is that clear?” Gabriel asked, his voice smooth and logical. 

Castiel hesitated.

“I can always call Uriel…” Gabriel said, his voice lilting as twirled his silver blade. It was identical to Castiel’s in appearance, though Cas’s was slightly longer.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” Castiel spat. 

“Great. I’ll alert Michael. You’ll be leading a dozen of our troops and a score of Crowli’s men.”

“When?”

Gabriel grinned. “Two days.” 

Castiel frowned. “I heard that Michael was working with Crowli’s forces to push out the squatters in the Mercato that day.”

“Never a good idea to have all of your eggs in one basket, Castiel,” Gabriel said, winking. “You’re dismissed.”

Cas stood up, bowed, and left quickly, closing the door behind him with a loud bang. He took the steps two at a time, pushing his way into Santa Carlotta’s courtyard. He collapsed in a bench behind the marble statue of the Virgin Mary, burying his head in his hands.

“What have I done?” he whispered.

Just then, Castiel noticed a small object lying on the ground. With a jolt, he realized it was a bird. He knelt down to examine it. It couldn’t have been more than a few days old, patchy feathers emerging from skinny, undeveloped wings. It’s neck was bent at an odd angle, and its chest rose and fell unevenly, fluttering. 

All of Cas’ anger at his superiors flooded through him as he stared at that dying bird. How dare they presume that he would follow them blindly, with no thought for what was right or just. This bird dying, that was unjust. He could feel his anger building, heat flooding from behind his eyes to every single one of his limbs. He picked up the dying bird, cradling it between his calloused palms.

His anger coalesced in a bolt of pain, and suddenly his palms glowed a white-blue. Before his eyes, the bird’s bent neck righted itself, the twisted feathers fell back into place. Its skinny frame swelled, fleshing out muscles and fat. It opened its mouth, letting out a surprised squawk. Just as suddenly as Castiel’s pain appeared, it was gone, and his palms stopped glowing. In his hands sat a very young sparrow, blinking at him. It chirped, flapping its wings experimentally, then flying off awkwardly across the courtyard. 

Castiel’s eyes flicked from the silhouette of the bird to his hands before his vision went dark, and he pitched forward, fainting.


	15. Isn't That Amazing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel talks to Dean about his newfound abilities; there may be some feelings i don't know they talk and anytime Dean and Castiel talk is a good time unless it's a bad time which is more often actually. This one's kinda short--more on the way tonight probably.

Dean pulled his hood up over his eyes, splaying his arms and legs out awkwardly in the grass around him, closing his eyes and dozing. The occasional sound of a page turn to his right was comforting: Castiel had lugged a few leather-bound books from the Order’s library, and was poring over the yellowed pages. When Dean had asked Cas what he was reading, the Templar hesitated and said that it was “research”. Dean didn’t press him--he owed his jailer much more than privacy. And he didn’t really want to think too hard about it, but Dean was starting to think of the Templar less like a chaperone and more like a friend. What does it matter what kind of friends I make anyway, he wondered as he drifted off to sleep. They’re just going to kill me, and there’s only so many times this guy’s gonna drag me up two flights of stairs just to see the sunlight. 

Dean was almost asleep when he felt a pressure on his right forearm, strong fingers pulling at the straps securing his wrist blade. He kept his eyes closed, the bitter taste of betrayal on his tongue. He could have easily twisted his wrist, ejecting his blade. It would have been easy to kill the Templar, he suddenly realized. Even though Cas had given Dean all of his weapons, that thought had never occurred to him. He could have ended his life days ago, and he could end it now. Instead, he grabbed Castiel’s hand.

“If you wanted to kill me, Cas, you should have done it this morning. Wouldn’t have had to bother lugging my crippled ass up those stairs.”

Cas was quiet for a moment, then stammered. “Dean, I had no intention of harming you. If I wanted you dead, you would be dead.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” Dean said, keeping his eyes closed. He was still holding on to Castiel’s hand, and the Templar made no attempt to pull his arm away. 

“I merely needed a blade to test out a theory. I didn’t want to wake you. I assumed you were resting.”

“Well, I was. And don’t you have your own knife anyways, amico?” Dean said, stressing the word for friend, still not entirely convinced that the Templar meant him no harm. He dropped Cas’s hand nonetheless.

“It’s being sharpened.” Castiel said. Dean opened his eyes, say the hesitancy in Cas’s own. 

“Big plans tomorrow night? Gotta get her shiny and new to impale someone important?” Dean asked, drenching his words in sarcasm. 

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. “May I use your blade or not, Dean?”

Dean released the Templar’s hand, muttering to himself about the thieving nature of Templars while he quickly unfastened the buckles and locks that held his blade in place. He took the cuff off of his arm, holding it out to Castiel. 

“Thank you.” Castiel murmured. 

Dean eyed the Templar suspiciously. “So what kind of experiment are you--CAS!” he shouted. Castiel had slid the blade out, rolled back his sleeve, and dragged the silver shard across his elbow crease. Dean sat up, cringing at the pain in his leg and knocking the wrist blade out of Castiel’s hand. 

‘What are you, nuts? You could kill yourself, you idiot!” He growled, panting at the effort it had taken to move so quickly. 

Cas narrowed his eyes at him, curious and disapproving. “A cut here would not kill you. And if I remember correctly, you tried to kill yourself a week ago.”

“That was a mistake. I want to live, Cas, I just don’t expect to.” Dean was acutely aware of how weak and hypocritical that sounded, but it was the truth. 

Castiel dipped his head, frowning. “Regardless, that’s not what this is about. Here, look.” 

He knelt up and held one hand over his bloody forearm, closing his eyes and biting his lip. Suddenly a bright blue light flooded from Castiel’s outstretched hand, enveloping the dark gash and blinding Dean momentarily. Dean yelped, looking from Cas’s arm to the Templar’s face. The same blue-white glow poured from his irises. Castiel met his gaze, and Dean could feel the Templar gazing into his soul. Not in a figurative way--the light was literally probing at his essence, taking in his life and his energy. Observing everything that Dean was in a more intimate way than he had ever felt before. 

Dean blinked, and Cas’s eyes faded back to their normal, ever-so-slightly mismatched blue. His palm stopped glowing, and where the ugly scar had been there was now a layer of healthy skin. Cas sighed heavily, falling forwards on his knees. Dean caught his shoulders, steadying him. 

“What the fuck was that?” Dean asked, his chest heaving. “Some kind of miracle or something?”

Cas shrugged, panting. “I don’t know. I only just discovered that I could do it yesterday. A baby bird fell out of its nest, and I found it out here. I was just so angry, it would never be able to fly through no fault of its own...And then there was a light from my hands, and it healed. I healed it, and it flew away.”

Dean laughed nervously. “You’re a softie, Cas. You get these supernatural powers and the first thing you do is heal a dying bird.” 

“My skill at this is improving--I fainted last time I tried. Do you have any idea what this means?” Castiel sat up, all exhaustion gone from the Templar’s body. 

Dean met Cas’s eager gaze with confusion. He shook his head quickly. “You have a long and lucrative career ahead of you in putting the doctors of Italy out of business?”

“I may be able to heal you, Dean.”

Dean hadn’t even considered that. He had already reconciled with death, he had chased it, begged for it. Where he was now, with the Templars, this was a realm between death and life for him, a sort of waiting room for the death that he always knew was coming for him. His own personal purgatory. The only constant in his punishment had been Castiel. Cas, who was now offering to free him. 

“You would do that for me?” Dean asked after a moment of silence between the two. “Cas, they would kill you if they found out that you had helped me escape. I don’t know a lot about Templars, but I do know that they do not deal well with betrayal.”

Castiel shrugged Dean’s protests off. “I believe that they have betrayed our true purpose here. It is the Order’s duty to promote peace and, well, order, among our charges. Killing you would not bring order, Dean. It’s just more bloodshed. And if this is to be the way that I rebel, then so be it. And they can’t kill me, I’m sure of that now.”

“Si, but I’m a little bit bigger than a baby bird. What if you don’t just faint, man? Are you sure about this?”

“No,” Castiel said, a half-crazed smile spreading across his face. “And isn’t that amazing?”


	16. Code Green, Code Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Charlie attempt to infiltrate the Templar HQ. They're pretty badass. 
> 
> This one is also kind of short but WE ARE GETTING TO SOME GOOD STUFF SO HANG IN HERE WITH ME

“What the hell is that?” Sam asked, pointing at the terrifying weapon holstered safely on Charlie’s back. 

“I don’t know. I won it in a game of chance. Great for climbing and killing. I call him Crook.” Charlie said, reaching behind her and gripping the leather handle of her hooked stick.

“Ah, yes, a game of chance,” Sam chuckled.

“You doubt my honesty.” Charlie said, feigning offense as she lead the Assassin through the streets of Florence.

Sam snorted. It wasn’t dark out yet, and according to Charlie, they had to rescue Dean before midnight, when the combined forces of the Guarda and the Templars would sweep through the Mercato, cutting a bloody path through the ramshackle shelters and slaughtering the homeless of the city. That, and Sam had no idea what kind of condition Dean was in, or if he’d even be able to fight with them. What if they couldn’t even find him, or worse…

“I’ll have you know, Sam, I am the most trustworthy thief you’ll ever meet.” Charlie said, dodging around a minstrel begging for coin. 

“Some would argue La Volpe, but seeing as I’ve never met the man, I’ll have to agree with you.”

Charlie laughed. “That old fox was as straight as a dog’s hind leg. But I guess if you ask the Assassins, they’d say he was pretty honest.”

“Mhmm.” Sam said. The two made their way towards the ruins of Santa Carlotta silently, blending in with the heavily draped businessmen and scholars making their way across the city; men and women going to brothel, bar, or bed. The killer and thief moved among them, stopping a few buildings from the chapel. 

Charlie had left her night-suit behind--it wouldn’t help her hide in the daylight. Instead she wore a simple green shift common for a woman of lower class to wear outside, with her hair hanging down past her shoulders to conceal the hooked end of the handle on her back. When Sam had given her a look after she met him in the Riverboat, Charlie had said she was “blending”, assuring him that if she needed to climb or run, she wouldn’t have a problem. He had shaken his head, wondering at the other skills this thief could possibly possess. 

“Alright, how do you want to play this?” Charlie asked. 

“Alright, I think we should get vertical, see if we can spot any guards around the entrances. You take that apartment, I’ll head across to the other side and see if I can get on top of that building.” Sam said quietly.

Charlie nodded, disappearing back the way they had come. Sam skirted the grounds of the chapel. Part of the Santa Carlotta’s roof and south wall were missing, the evening sunlight streaming through the Church’s ruined structure. That was all Sam could see beyond the stone wall that surrounded the church and its courtyard, that and the tops of a few cypress trees. Sam noted the broken roof and walls; they could make for a decent entrance into the Templar headquarters, even if they were a bit obvious.

Sam came to the tall building he had picked out, disappearing down an alley adjacent to what appeared to be a smithy. Checking over his shoulder for any onlookers, he dug his fingers into the cracks in the bricks and made his way up the side of the building. Sam pulled himself onto the rooftop, staying low to the tile to avoid detection. At the corner of the roof he stopped, surveying the chapel and it’s courtyard. Sam could see a rather pleasant looking garden filled with gnarled trees and dominated by a marble statue of the Virgin Mary. 

Sam closed his eyes, opening himself up to the energy of the universe around him. Dean, he thought. I need to see Dean, and those who guard him. His eyes snapped open, taking in the world around him in shades of blue and gray. Across the square from him, he saw a small, bright orange light atop an apartment building. Below him, shapeless gray forms swarmed the streets. The monochrome was interrupted only in four places evenly spaced around the stone fence of the church--each red form a compilation of two Templars. In addition to the eight guards, there were two red forms floating amongst the produce stands and near the town criers. Sam focused on the Santa Carlotta, narrowing his eyes. 

There, beneath the ground. A painfully bright blue light and a green-gold one. Sam knew the gold-tinged glow well. He took a deep breath, releasing his intention and watching the colors fade and refine, back to the world his senses were accustomed to. 

He climbed down the building, meeting up with Charlie near one of the floater guards. He pretended to laugh at something she hadn’t said, draping his arm around her. 

“Good idea,” Charlie whispered. “But don’t get fresh.”

“Did you see anything?” he asked the thief, steering her towards an artist’s display of paintings. 

“That one behind us, twenty paces. Then again, a bit to the south. I couldn’t see the entire property, but I saw two teams of guards on this side of that fence.” She said, pulling him over to the nudes the artist so clearly favored. Charlie paused near a particular nude Venus, who appeared to have just cast off a long flowing robe, revealing her nakedness to the shocked cherubs at her feet. “What about you, elf-eyes?

Sam nodded. “Same for me. And two more teams to the east and north. It’s very orderly. And a bit...sparse, don’t you think? I feel like there should be more of them.” 

Charlie shrugged. “Ten guards seems like a lot to me.”

“But these are Templars, and if you got good information, this is their base. Last time these guys had any serious power they holed up in the Vatican. Tight security is in their nature.”

“You think it’s a trap?” Charlie breathed, leaning in to plant a kiss on Sam’s neck. The Templar across the crowd from them seemed fooled--he paid no attention to Charlie and Sam. 

“Could be. But it doesn’t matter. We don’t have the time to do this the safe way.” Sam said, patting Charlie on the back. “Are you ready?” 

 

Charlie flashed him a smile, saying “Born ready, kid. I’ll take fruity here, and the two guard teams I saw.” She nodded towards the Templar leaning against the fruit stand. 

Sam nodded. “Fine. Be discreet, please. Don’t want a lot of blood in the streets ” 

“Only way to be, brother,” Charlie said, making her way towards the fruit stand. Sam saw the thief bang into a cart of apples, knocking some of them to the cobbled pavement. Charlie grabbed at the apples, apologizing loudly and stammering as the Templar knelt to help her pick up the fallen fruit. Sam turned away. That guard wouldn’t last a minute. 

He made his way towards the other floater he had identified, this one sat on a park bench next to a harassed-looking mother nursing a screaming infant. Sam chuckled. He’d be putting this guard out of his misery. Sam walked by the Templar, dropping a small silver ball behind him as he passed. After three seconds, it hissed and popped, throwing sparks and lines of colored smoke. The Templar started, drawing a short silver blade from his belt and turning towards the noisemaker. Sam moved silently back towards the bench, twisting his wrist and plunging it into the Templar’s back and covering his mouth. The man choked, eyes widening as the life left his body. 

“Requiescat in Pace,” Sam murmured, lowering the Templar back to the bench. The woman on the other end of the bench clutched the babe to her chest, still staring at the sparking ball in alarm. Sam moved away, towards the other four Templars on his list.

He knew he shouldn’t have, but he grinned. This was what he was good at. Ending lives was his art, the streets of his city a canvas. His blades were his paintbrushes, chisels, graphite and palette, and Sam was about to cut a silent masterpiece into the flesh of the Templars for every ounce of pain they had caused the Brotherhood, the Vincense, Dean, and Sam.


	17. Executive Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and the Templars ready to attack Monterrigionni and the Mercato, Sam and Charlie infiltrate the Templar headquarters.
> 
> Shit very nearly hits the fan. We're getting to the juicy parts here, kids.

Dean didn’t want him to do it.

“I just don’t like it, Cas.” Dean had said after Castiel helped him into his bed after their morning in the courtyard. “You’re gonna get yourself hurt. It seems like this...this whatever-it-is is really draining. If fixing a baby bird was enough to knock you out, imagine working on a real person. Cas, this could kill you.”

Castiel was losing his patience with his charge, and he didn’t have a lot of time left before Michael called the captains to order. 

“What do you care if I die, Dean? I’m just another Templar, right? If circumstances were different, if you hadn’t gotten captured and tortured, if our paths had ever crossed outside of this last month, one of us would probably already be dead at the hand of the other. Assassins, Templars. That’s simply the way that it is.” He knew he couldn’t take his words back once he said them, but he was bitter and Dean was being difficult. “It’s my life, Assassin. I can do with it what I please.”

“It’s my body, and I have a right to say what happens to it, too!” Dean didn’t look at Castiel, instead rubbing his crooked shin. 

“I didn’t drag you out of Crowli’s torture chamber for fun, Dean, and I didn’t do it in vain.”

“I’m saying don’t, Cas. Just because.” Dean said finally. 

“You can’t save everyone, my friend,” Cas murmured, “Though you try.” He left, making his way towards the nurse’s wing. He was not giving up on Dean, even if the idiot had decided to give up on himself. 

All of the nurses were upstairs, providing the battle medics for the evening’s raid with what they would need to treat the Order’s wounded. Castiel desperately tried to shrug off thoughts of what he would be doing tonight, what Dean would think of him after this evening...how many things could he lie about before he broke his trust, he wondered.

He examined the bottles of colored liquid and boxes of herbs, plucking a clear phial from a cupboard. The medics had used it on Cas once, when he had gotten a barbed arrow lodged in his shoulder. He was careful not to disturb any of the other items in the room--Castiel didn’t want anyone asking him why he was stealing a strong sleep aid from the Order’s stock. 

Castiel dumped the contents of the phial into a clay mug, filling the remainder of the mug with spiced wine. He hoped the spice would be enough to hide the bitter taste of the sleep aid. Castiel grabbed a loaf of bread and a slab of dried beef from a different cupboard. Arranging the food on a tray, Castiel flagged down a passing apprentice, sending him and the sleep aid into Dean’s room. He figured he had an hour to wait before the sleep aid kicked in. 

Dean was going to kill him.  
\--------

Castiel lifted Dean’s arm, tucking the sealed envelope between the Assassin’s palm and the bed. Dean was sleeping soundly, snoring occasionally. The sleep aid Castiel had slipped from the nurses seemed to have worked well. The mug next to his bed was empty-- Cas had dosed Dean with nearly double what he thought would be enough to knock himself out.

When he woke up, Cas would be gone. Riding towards Dean’s home, flanked by his brothers and sisters in arms, Gabriel and Raphael expected him to slaughter every Assassin in Monterrigioni. Cas smirked. No matter what, Dean won’t feel as though he owes me his life after today, he thought bitterly. 

He pulled the curtain that blocked Dean’s room off from the rest of the hallway shut. Castiel didn’t want anyone walking in on him, glowing and healing the Order’s enemy prisoner. Amused, Castiel imagined the crotchety old nurse seeing him while he was healing, glowing hands and eyes and power radiating from within him.

Castiel took a deep breath, remembering exactly what he had felt when he had healed the bird. It was rage, uncontrollable and infinite. He let it build inside him now. Castiel was angry, 

Gabriel and Michael thought that they could control him, as if he was some kind of weapon. 

He held his hand out over the Assassin’s bent leg, watching the white glow flicker to life in his palm. 

There would be no justice from Dean’s death. It would be the death of a friend, a pointless death. They ordered it, and they wouldn’t listen to reason. 

The light doubled in intensity as Castiel’s rage grew. Swirling around inside him, he could feel his emotions reacting chemically, explosively, with his body and soul. He could feel himself ripping into a million shards, bouncing off of himself, and fusing back into a singular being all in the same instant. There was fission and fusion both within him. 

The glow from his hands was starting to hurt to look at. It flickered and wavered, powerful and weak at the same time. But the leg, Dean’s leg wasn’t healing. 

It stayed bent at that weird angle, taunting him. Cas could barely even see it through the white-blue light. It was the most power Castiel had ever felt, and it wasn’t enough to fix his friend, to save his life. 

Cas’s gaze flicked frantically from Dean’s leg to his friend’s sleeping face. Dean slept on, unaware of the solar explosion shredding Castiel from his core. Castiel thought instantly of Dean’s smile, his laugh, his anger. The panic on his face when Castiel had fought with him, the expression of a man broken when he had untied his blindfold in Crowli’s torture chamber. Everything Castiel knew and felt about the man sentenced to death in front of him flashed into his mind, and with a burst of light, Castiel’s anger disappeared. Calm, fervent affection took it’s place, fusing into a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. White hot and brilliant, light arced forward from Cas’s palm into Dean’s body like lightning, pure and linear. 

Before his eyes, the crooked leg glowed brightly, snapping straight. The purplish bruising around the knee faded, replaced by healthy flushed skin. The muscles that hadn’t been used in weeks swelled taught, every trace of atrophy gone. Castiel blinked, watching the light fade from his palm and from Dean’s body. He fell back onto the floor, breathing raggedly and expecting the nausea and exhaustion that had accompanied his last two healings. 

Moments passed. Apart from the headache starting to form between his eyes, Castiel felt fine. He rolled onto his knees, testing his balance. He swayed a little, scrambling up onto his feet. 

With the amount of power that just came out of me, I should be dead, Cas thought. It wasn’t working, I wasn’t powerful enough. But then I looked at Dean…

Castiel shook his head. He didn’t have the time or the attention to waste on his new abilities and their workings, though eventually he knew he would have to consider the meaning and purpose of his powers, and if this power was in fact restricted to simple healing. 

For now, he was simply content with saving his friend’s life. Castiel moved to Dean’s side, making sure his note was still tucked under the sleeping man’s arm. 

This may be the last time I ever see him, he thought. 

“Goodbye, my friend. I am sorry.” Cas said, leaning in and pressing his lips to Dean’s forehead. The Assassin tasted of sweat and something else, something Castiel could only imagine as sunshine. 

He stepped back, preparing to leave. Behind him, he heard someone clear their throat.

“Castiel, Michael and the others are outside. They’re about to head down to the stables. They’re all waiting on you, Captain.” Balthazar had pulled the curtain aside and stood in the doorway. He was dressed for battle, bits of armor spread across his chest and on his arms. 

He hadn’t noticed Balthazar’s approach. Castiel wondered how much his friend had seen. If he had seen the kiss, or the healing, he didn’t mention it. There was no tension in Balthazar’s stance or face, no hint that he had just seen anything he shouldn’t have. 

“As you say, fratello.” Castiel said, sweeping out of the room without a backward glance at Dean. His tan, sleeveless robes fluttered around his knees as he walked. Tugging at the bracers on his arms as he led Balthazar up the stairs, he could only imagine how angry Dean would be if their paths crossed again. Castiel had gone against his friend’s wishes, and was now marching out to set fire to everything the Assassin knew and loved. 

Castiel’s headache worsened as they emerged into the courtyard. Outside the church, dozens of armored Templars stood in neat formation, while the dark-tunic wearing members of the Guarda crowded together in a jumble of blades and leather. 

“Castiel.” Michael broke away from a conversation with Gabriel and Crowli, motioning the captain towards the discussion. Cas inclined his head to Michael, avoiding Gabriel’s gaze. 

“You will be leading your own troops, the third infantry here.” Michael said, nodding towards a dozen Templars to their left. The twelve soldiers clapped a hand to their hearts, meeting Castiel’s gaze. He returned the gesture, honoring his soldiers by bowing with his right hand on his chest. 

“You are in command of the third as well as fifteen of Crowi’s men.” Michael said. 

Castiel frowned, surveying the mess that was Crowli’s forces. “Which ones?”

“Pick and choose, love. They’re unorganized as of now. Maybe you can whip ‘em into shape.” Crowli said with a smile. He stuck his hand out towards Castiel. “Captain Crowli, of the Guarda.” 

It took every ounce of self control Castiel possessed to keep from sliding out his blade and plunging it into Crowli’s chest. Instead, he clasped Crowli’s hand tightly. Perhaps a little too tightly. He saw the Guarda leader narrow his eyes in pain. “Castiel.”

“Alright, ladies, let’s get moving!” Gabriel yelled. “First, Third and Fourth, with Castiel, Michael, and Balthazar. Second and Fifth, You’re with Crowli, Uriel and me.” 

“May the Father of Understanding guide us all, in the city and beyond,” Michael said. 

Castiel took one last look at the church, then turned, leading his soldiers out of the courtyard. 

\------  
Sam and Charlie watched the Guarda and the Templars depart the courtyard. He had never seen so many of them in one place before. The templars marched behind the guard, clad in iron armor and with steely faces. 

A few of the guard moved ahead of the group, shepherding surprised-looking citizens away from the military force.

“Official Firenze business, step aside please!” One of them called from the front of the guard. From his red and black striped doublet and the glint off of golden badges, Sam assumed it was the Guard Captain. 

“Crowli.” Charlie said, confirming his suspicions. 

“Which one’s Michael?” Sam asked. 

“I don’t know. Didn’t see his face.” Charlie responded. 

Sam scanned the Templars as they marched away, and his heart skipped a beat. Near the front of the Templar forces, was the man from Sam’s dream. He felt the sharp sting of the blade sinking into his chest, saw the wicked smile in his mind’s eye. But the man in the crowd didn’t smile now. His face was expressionless as he led the remainder of the soldiers out of the square. 

“Sam? Sam are you okay?” Charlie shook his shoulder.

Sam blinked, stammering that he was fine. 

“Let’s go, then. We don’t have a lot of time before they get to the other side of the city. Gods, we are cutting this close.” Charlie said, digging her hook into the wall surrounding the courtyard and pulling herself over the wall.

“Good thing we waited to take out those last two guards, right?”

Sam followed her, landing on the balls of his feet in the soft grass of the Santa Carlotta courtyard. He had never put much stock in prophecy before, but his father had been a firm believer in omens. Getting stabbed in the back by someone he had never seen before (someone who turned out to be a very real Templar) seemed like a pretty severe omen to Sam.

He followed Charlie towards the Church’s open front door, shaking away the dread clouding his mind. 

\-----------

Dean started awake at the scream. It echoed down from the chapel upstairs, bouncing off the walls and down the stairs, cutting through his sleepy haze. He nearly fell out of bed, looking around frantically for the source of alarm. The noise died just as quickly as it had materialized. 

Did I just imagine that? Dean wondered clutching his heart. These assholes must be drugging me with some seriously strong stuff. I don’t even remember falling asleep that time. 

Dean sat up in bed, adjusting his torso with his arms. He pushed against the mattress, catching his hand on the corner of a sealed envelope. On the back of the yellowed envelope, Dean’s name was scrawled in dark blue ink. He furrowed his brow. He didn’t recognize the handwriting. 

He had fallen asleep in his clothes, with his hidden blades still strapped to his forearms. With a flick of his wrist, the short blade flew out, slicing through the envelope’s waxed seal. He pulled out a single page of parchment covered in the same scrawl as on the envelope--tall, sloping lines crowding together across of the page. He chuckled at the first few lines of choppy thought.

 

Dean,

If you’re reading this, you’re not dead and my idea worked, in which case you will probably want to kill me. 

If my corpse isn’t in the room with you, then that means I’m not dead either. 

If you’re not reading this, then that probably means you’re still sleeping, or you’re dead. Every effort I made to keep you safe failed, and for that I am sorry. In that case, this isn’t a letter, it’s a promise. I will find the one who ended your life and make sure justice is done.

I healed your leg. I know you said not to, but that wasn’t a good enough reason for me. I would be here to tell you this if I could, but I am needed elsewhere. With your leg fixed, you should be able to escape somehow. Security will be very light for the next couple of nights. 

My friend, our paths may not pass again. Circumstance can be cruel. But I am glad to have met you, and it has been an honor to be both your enemy and your friend. 

 

Suddenly, Dean heard footsteps coming from the hallway. He set the letter aside, remembering the scream that had awoken him. A second page fluttered to the floor, unnoticed. 

My leg, he thought, pushing the sheets off of him. Dean’s dark brown breeches stopped halfway down his shin, revealing two identical, normal looking legs. He rubbed his calf, feeling the strength of muscles that hadn’t been there a few hours ago. Thank you, Cas, he thought, scrambling to his feet and pressing himself against the wall next to the door. There was no weakness in his calf. Every muscle felt as if he had been using it for weeks, instead of mere moments. 

The footsteps grew louder. Two sets, both quiet. The tread of people who knew how to move in the dark, in the night. Killers. The sound stopped outside his door, and a blue-sleeved arm pushed aside the curtain between Dean’s room and the hallway. 

Dean grabbed the arm, twisting it and pushing the tall intruder against the wall. 

“Listen up, you son of a bitch! I’m not dying tonight, not down here. Not anymore!” Dean spat. 

Only after he pinned the man against the wall did he notice the familiar embroidery on the robes, the shape of the hood, the hidden blades on the man’s forearms. 

“Dean, the fuck?! It’s me!” he said through gritted teeth.

Dean pulled the man’s hood back, revealing long brown hair poorly tied back messily. The man grinned at his brother. 

“Sam? Sammy?!”

Dean twisted his brother around, crushing Sam against him in a tight hug. Surprised, Sam wrapped his arms around his brother, patting him on the back between his shoulder blades. 

“Did you find him?” A woman’s voice asked from behind Sam. Dean released his brother, focusing at the young girl in the hallway. 

“Who’s the putana?” Dean asked Sam, smiling at the redhead. She wore a green shift that she had tied up at her hips, allowing her to run. She clutched a long stick terminating in a curved blade, the kind of weapon Dean had never seen before. It was dripping in blood. 

“Dean, this is Charlie. She is currently busting your ass out of here, which we need to continue doing.” Sam said, grabbing Dean’s arm and pulling him out of the room. 

The three of them made their way down the hallway and up the stairs, avoiding three corpses on their way

“Good to finally meet you, Dean.” Charlie said, nodding at him with a smile. 

“Hey, anyone who wants to bust my ass out of jail is good in my book,” Dean said. Freedom was here, he could taste it on his tongue, sure as the sun would come up in the morning and scorch the farmland beyond the city’s walls. “Looks like you can hold your own with a...whatever that is...too.”

Charlie spun the hook with skill. “You learn all kinds of useful things in the thieves guild.”

“You went to the thieves guild for help, Sam?!” Dean called out to his brother as they emerged from the church. “No offense, of course.” He said to Charlie.

“None taken.” Charlie said with a grin.

Sam said nothing, shooting Dean a look. He pointed at the two guards posted near the only gate in the stone-walled courtyard fifty feet away. 

“I’ll take left, you take right.” Dean said. Sam nodded, 

“Boys get to have all the fun,” Charlie muttered as Sam and Dean moved in tandem, striding silently towards their targets. Dean bit back a laugh. He liked this thief.

Dean grabbed his target in the same second Sam grabbed his, both boys covering the Templar’s mouths to stifle their screams as they plunged wrist blades into their flesh. The bodies twitched for a moment, then Dean pushed his target to the ground in disgust. 

“Alright. I never want to see another cursed templar again,” Dean said. Well, he wouldn’t mind seeing Castiel again, and thanking him for saving his life.

“I’ve got some bad news for you then, amico.” Charlie said, rifling through the Templars’ pockets. 

“What?” Dean asked. 

Sam took a deep breath. “The Templars and Guarda have allied. When we got here, they were just leaving to go and slaughter their way through the paupers that have set up permanent homes near the Mercato Vecchio.”

Dean sighed. Couldn’t stay lucky for long, he guessed.  
“What kind of numbers?” he asked.

“Looked like maybe fifty.”

“You’re joking.” Dean choked. Sam shook his head. “How the hell are we supposed to take out fifty Templars and Guards?!”

“It’s not so bad,” Charlie offered. “I managed to roust up a few thieves to help out. Generally we don’t get involved with this stuff, but the poor have always been under the protection of the Guild. Even if the leaders of the Guild have forgotten, not all of us have.”

Dean rubbed his temples. “How many?”

“Twenty one. Not including us.” Charlie said, her smile finally falling. “Better than nothing, right?”

He sucked in a breath, fighting back his panic. Not nearly enough. “You’re right, Charlie. It’s better than nothing, and it’s what we’ve got.” 

“You’re okay with this?” Sam asked, surprised. 

Dean grinned. “Part of the job, Sammy.” He pulled his hood up. “Let’s do this.”


	18. Red Sky in the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monterrigioni prepares for battle.

It was early in the morning, and Jo and Kevin had decided to go for a morning walk along the village’s parapet as the sun rose. Jo had just begun to snooze, her head leaning into Kevin’s shoulder and legs dangling over the edge of the wall when Kevin had shaken her awake. A group of horses was running at full gallop towards the city like they were being chased by hell hounds. The two young Assassins made their way down to the village’s gate to meet the fleeing horses. 

Jo watched her stepfather gallop into the village, flanked by the three Assassins that had left the villa with him a week ago to search for Dean in Firenze. Robi’s eyes were wide and his lips trembled as he barked orders at the apprentices and Assassins near the entrance. 

“Close the gates, now. Every entryway into Monterrigioni needs sealing. Get the children and elderly inside their homes, and I want every able-bodied man and woman to arm up and report to the villa.”

 

“What’s wrong?” Jo called to Robi, pulling Kevin along behind her. The leader of the Florentine Assassins was deathly pale, and he kept a hand on the engraved handle of the sword at his belt. 

“Templars.” Robi spat, dismounting. His eyes flicked from Kevin, to Jo, to their linked hands. “I see the Chinese Assassins made it here safely. Well, now that you’re here, you’re in danger.”

Kevin nodded. “I understand. How can I help?” 

“I need you to spread the word to the southern section of the city, bang on every door. We need soldiers in the villa within the next ten minutes, armed. Everyone who isn’t fighting needs to lock up.”

Kevin nodded, squeezed Jo’s hand, and took off down an alley. Robi walked swiftly towards the villa, motioning for Jo to follow.

“Wouldn’t it be safer to bring them all up to the villa? Everyone who isn’t fighting can hole up in the sanctuary.”

Robi shook his head. “The villa is exactly where they’ll go. That’s where the ledger is. Do you remember what I told you about the ledger?”

“You said it contained information about the next sage.” Jo said, dodging a pair of children dashing across the road. They wore knives at their belts.

Robi nodded. “It does, and the Templars want it. Bad. They think they know how to get old knowledge out of the sage once they can find it, information about other Pieces of Eden and such.”

Jo remembered Robi’s mind-blowing discussion about the secrets of the Brotherhood and the Templars, the First Civilization and the mind-altering powers of the Pieces of Eden. The whole business made her head hurt if she thought too hard about it. 

The two Assassins swept up the stairs to the Villa along with several bleary-eyed residents of Monterrigioni, armed to the teeth and clothed for battle. At the front of the crowd stood a harassed looking Ellen, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her husband and daughter. Robi strode up to her, kissing her on the cheek. 

‘What’s going on?” Ellen asked, wrapping Jo in a tight hug. 

“Templars coming from Firenze.” 

“How many?” 

“I didn’t get a very good look. More than thirty, I think. It was kind of hard to do a head count when they kept firing crossbow bolts at us.”

“Okay,” Ellen said, fighting down panic. “What are we going to do, then? I think we can take thirty Templars down, don’t you?” 

“They didn’t look like they were coming to talk, Ellen. They were outfitted for war.”

“How long?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes.”

Jo ran a hand through her hair. This was happening so fast...a few hours ago everything had seemed so simple. Now her life, and her family, were at risk. She bit her cheek, rage swelling inside her like hot air. These Templars were going to regret threatening her and her home. 

“Did you find out anything about Dean?” Jo asked.

Robi shook his head, shame coloring his words. “We were on his trail, and I think we were close. I know they didn’t kill him. But I think the Thieves Guild gave us the run-around. We got word that there was a mess of soldiers leaving the city tonight, so I thought it was best to investigate.”

“Good thing you did, too,” Ellen said. “Now, we need to protect the villa. Strategize.” 

Robi nodded. “You’re right,” he said, “Jo, what would you do with these soldiers?”

Jo blinked. “Me?”

“If you’re gonna lead these people someday, Jo, it doesn’t hurt to get some real experience.” Robi said with a melancholy grin. 

“Uh, okay.” Jo said, her head spinning. 

“We need defenses at the walls, men and women with crossbows. We don’t have much time for more than that. It wouldn’t hurt to get some fires burning in the braziers near the gate too. Drop that on them when shit starts to get real. We would need a few scouts to run along the wall as well, make sure we’re not getting flanked by any other forces.”

Robi nodded. “What about the rest of the Assassins?”

Jo wracked her brain, closing her eyes. “Barricades. Have them pull out as much furniture and junk as we can. Block the Templars off at any place we can. Then have our main forces on the roofs beside the barricades. When the Templars stop at the barricades, we drop out of the skies and butcher them.” 

Jo opened her eyes, to the startled looks of her parents. 

“What?”

Robi cleared his throat. “Nothing, that was just...very impressive.” 

He turned to the dozens of Assassins before him, repeating Jo’s plan to the Villa’s last defense. “But let me make one thing very clear. If you have the choice between killing and maiming, you are to spare the Templars. We do not want another blood feud on our hands.” The Assassins murmured in dissent, but departed to take up positions on the village’s walls and roofs. 

Jo grabbed her stepfather’s arm. “Are you crazy? They are coming here to make war. Why shouldn’t we give it to them?!”

“For two reasons. First, because we are better than them.” Jo rolled her eyes. “And secondly, because I think they have Dean captive. If we kill them all, what’s to stop them from taking it out on him?”

Jo gritted her teeth. Her stepfather was right. 

“I’m going to get my knives.” Ellen murmured, kissing Jo on the forehead and disappearing within the villa. 

“Where do you want me?” Jo asked her stepfather.

Robi sighed. “We should be at the gate to meet them. Your mom will stay at the Villa with Kevin’s mother: last line of defense and all that. Fall back here if they break the wall.” 

Jo and Robi silently made their way through the chaotic streets. People tossed broken furniture into the streets and passed weapons between neighbors. Most of the residents of Monterrigioni were Assassins, but some were just people. People with businesses, families, and lives that were now in danger. 

They took up a position on the wall above the gate. About a mile up the cobbled path between the village and Florence marched a force of Templars, Jo had never seen so many in one place before. She thought that the Order had been effectively uprooted years ago by Ezio and his Brotherhood. The Templars looked anything but annihilated to Jo, plowing through the countryside with heavenly purpose. 

The Assassins watched the Templars approach the villa and stop at the iron gate. Jo’s eyes narrowed. Amongst the white and tan outfitted Templars she picked out dark red and black uniforms. They were backed by the Guarda now. 

“Buongiorno, Gentlemen!” Robi called down to the enemy force. “And a good morning to the ladies amongst the Templars as well.”

One of the dark-haired Templars stepped forward at a nod from another. “We have come for the Ledger, Assassin. The Order knows that it’s here. If you hand it over now, there is no need for bloodshed,” he said gruffly. “You have no chance of victory.” 

“Want to bet?” Robi roared. “Oh, and I didn’t know the Guard was working with you now. The Order has become quite the sellout lately. The Guarda, the Thieves Guild! Your forebearers would laugh at the sham you have become. You’re barely even an Order anymore.” 

“This is your last chance,” The Templar said, drawing a silver blade from his tan robes. The soldiers behind him followed suit, drawing identical blades. The guard among them pulled out their swords and spears, after a moment’s hesitation. “Surrender now, and no one needs to get hurt.”

Robi was silent.

“Please.” The Templar said, a note of panic in his voice. “Don’t make us do this.”

“I’m not making you do anything. You always have a choice, son. I’ve made mine.” Robi said

“This negotiation is finished, Castiel.” The balding templar beside the dark-haired one said, resting a hand on his shoulder. The one called Castiel tensed visibly at the touch. “Let us begin.”

“As you command, Michael.” Castiel said, raising a hand. 

In that moment, the Guard at the rear of the force moved as one, raising crossbows and firing into the top of the wall. The bolts flew, dragging thick rope behind them and anchoring themselves in the wall. 

The battle had begun.


	19. Brother, Take Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Charlie make it to the Mercato and attempt to stop the combined forces of the Templars and Guarda from killing the homeless of Firenze.

Sam, Dean, and Charlie raced towards the Mercato as the sun began to rise. Dean matched Sam’s pace, keeping up with his younger brother’s longer stride. Sam looked over his shoulder at the redheaded thief--Charlie had somehow managed to not fall behind the two tall men, sprinting along a few feet behind the Assassins. 

Sam’s eyes flashed to his brother’s face. Dean’s eyes were focused ahead, brow furrowed in thought and concentration, but his mouth was spread wide in a bright smile. The three rounded a corner quickly, and Dean tipped his head down, laughing freely and falling forward into his own speed. Sam could only imagine how long it had been since his brother had run. Perhaps it had been weeks since he had been outside or breathed fresh air. Sam’s fists clenched at the thought. The Templars were going to pay for what they had done to his brother, even if Sam had to fight through Templars that traveled back and forth through dreams and reality.

The three stopped a few blocks from the Mercato, ducking into an alley. 

“What’s the plan?” Dean asked, still smiling and breathing heavily. 

“No plan.” Charlie gasped, catching her breath. “I told my people to be here at dawn, ready to fight. Dawn was a few minutes ago.” Charlie said, pointing at the red disk on the horizon, just barely visible from their hiding spot. 

Sam shook his head. “They’re already there, then.”

“And probably getting their asses kicked. What are we waiting for?” Dean asked, twisting his wrists and sliding his hidden blades out. “I would really enjoy getting to spill some Templar blood right now.”

Sam frowned. “Dean, are you sure you’re ready for this?” At his brother’s quizzical stare, he continued, “You’ve been incarcerated for weeks, fratello. You could still be hurt or something.”

“I’m not injured. I can promise you that.” Dean said, scratching his jaw.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “How can you be so sure?” Dean didn’t respond.

A strangled yelp broke the silence, then quickly died out. 

“Guys, we kind of have a bigger problem here. Innocents are dying.” Charlie said, drawing her hooked blade. “Now, are you going to help me or not?”

The brothers nodded, mumbling affirmatively. 

“Let’s go then. You can talk feelings later.” Charlie said. 

Charlie led the Assassins out of the alley and towards the market, tying her hair back as she went.

“She’s pretty good.” Dean whispered to his brother, pulling Sam’s hood up over his eyes. Sam punched him in the arm lightly, adjusting his hood so that he could still see. 

“Yeah, no shit. We owe her a favor after this, by the way.” Sam whispered. 

Dean nodded. “Makes sense.”

Sam grinned. “Oh, and she likes girls, so don’t get any ideas.” 

“What makes you think I was going to get “ideas”? Dean asked, pretending to be offended. Charlie disappeared around a corner, emerging into the market 

“Are you two coming? There seems to be some, ah, BLOODSHED going on here!” Charlie shouted from the market.

Dean and Sam rushed around the corner, surveying the market before them. Red-and-black tuniced guards were setting fire to wooden structures while naked children and rag-covered paupers fled from the market. Sam’s eyes scanned the ranks of the Guard for pale Templar robes. 

“I got five Templars, fifteen guards!” Dean yelled as the three rushed towards the burning shantytown. “Where the hell are the others?”

“Just help the people!” Charlie shouted, swinging her blade low and dragging it across the exposed ankles of a guard. the guard’s blood splattered across the cobbled streets, and Charlie kept moving. “We can do a head-count later!” Sam saw what looked like three other thieves wielding knives and hammers throwing themselves between the attackers and the poor. 

A woman was backed against the wall by two guards, clutching a baby in one arm and a dagger in the other. The knife trembled in her hand as the guards moved closer, raising their blades. Dean leapt at the guard on the right, sweeping his leg out from under him and burying his blade in the guard’s neck. Before the other guard could register the death of his partner, Sam had buried both of his wrist blades into the guard’s back. 

The mother moved her mouth, but no sound came out. Sam twisted his wrists, pulling his blades back in to his forearms. Dean pointed in the direction they had come from, telling the mother, “Go!”

It was a flurry of blood and fire after that, the Assassins and Charlie slaughtering the Guarda and the few Templars that they saw like a machine. Sam looked up at his compatriots’ faces. Determination lit up Charlie’s expression, her face contorting with each swing of her curved blade. Dean’s smiled with the violent joy of battle, and his eyes were alight with vengeful joy. 

Sam noticed the ranks of the guard thinning as they fought, the paupers fleeing the shantytown and the market. The fires that the invaders had lit were consuming the few solid structures remaining of the homeless’ shelters. 

Charlie buried her blade in the back of the last fleeing guard, and Dean parried a Templar’s blade, twisting his wrist and pushing his blade up into the Templar’s neck, through his jaw and into his head. 

“Not bad, boys!” a voice called from behind them. Atop the Mercato’s pillars stood the last living Templar, golden hair pushed back and his silver blade clean of blood. Sam saw Charlie pull a small throwing knife from the sleeve of her shift. Dean caught her eye and shook his head. They needed to hear what this Templar had to say.

“Was this truly necessary, Templar? What purpose does this senseless massacre serve?” Sam yelled. 

“Is this in the name of Order, you asshole?” Dean shouted when the Templar simply grinned down at them.

“Maybe. I’m not going to explain myself to two idiots and a petty thief.” Sarcasm dripped from each word the Templar spoke.

Charlie flicked her arm faster than Sam had ever seen her move, and the Templar yelped in surprise. The knife had flown past his ear, slicing off a lock of his hair and nicking his ear.

“You missed.”

Charlie shook her head wordlessly. Sam was certain that Charlie’s knife had flown exactly where she had wanted it to. 

“A great show, nonetheless. But an even better one is going on back at the homestead, boys.” The Templar said, striding along the roof connecting the Mercato’s pillars. 

A white-hot bolt of panic lodged in Sam’s gut. “What do you mean?” he called to the Templar. 

“Bit of a light force here, isn’t it? Maybe a few young members of the order, a dozen guards? Doesn’t seem like the makings of a serious operation, does it? Easy for a couple master Assassins to dispatch, even without the bulk of your force of thieves. By the way, you can find their corpses at the bottom of the river.” He said, smiling at Charlie. Charlie narrowed her eyes. 

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” Dean asked. 

“Gabriel, okay? They call me Gabriel.” he said, bending at the waist in a farcical bow. “It’s good to finally meet you, Dean. I never did make it down to your little medical prison, but Castiel sure loved to talk about you. I almost feel like I know you now.” Gabriel said. Sam’s looked at Dean. This was one of the Templars that had a direct hand in imprisoning his brother

“You shut up.” Dean said quietly, his eyes wide. 

“Oh, touchy. Seems like I’ve hit a sore spot.” Gabriel said, pointing at Dean and grinning. “He got pretty attached to you, you know. Kept saying that you didn’t deserve to get killed. I don’t know what you did to him, but it really...” he spun his finger next to his ear. “messed with his porridge. He almost refused to go out on our little raid today.”

“Dean, what the hell is he talking about?” Sam asked his brother quietly.

Dean shook his head, blinking in confusion. “Tell me where Cas is, you son of a bitch, or I swear I’ll...”

“No need to threaten me, Dean. I come bearing a message.” Gabriel said, tipping his head back and spreading his arms. “As we speak, Castiel is leading an invasion into your little villa. Monterrigioni is probably up in flames. They’ may already be there now. Killing their way through the town.”

Charlie threw another knife, and Gabriel just managed to move his head to dodge the blade. The Templar ran, fleeing across the rooftops of the Mercato. Dean started to run after the Templar, but Sam stopped him. 

“Its gotta be a trick, Sammy.” Dean said, his chest heaving. “Its just gotta be.”

“Dean, what if he’s right? It makes sense. We saw all those Templars and Guards leaving the church, nothing like the kind of numbers we saw here. They all went after Monterrigioni.” 

“Jo, Ellen, Robi...everyone there is in danger.” Dean murmured, rubbing his temples. 

“Imp and Pallas are stabled at a bar down by the river.” Sam said, stepping over the dead bodies of the guard and the poor alike.

“I’m coming too.” Charlie said, following the boys out of the market at a run. 

“What about your thieves?” Dean asked. 

“I’m not their leader. If they’re alive, they can take care of themselves.” 

“You don’t owe us anything.” Sam said, falling back to jog beside her. 

Charlie nodded. Blood was smeared across her face, tangling her hair. “I know. And I’m still coming.”

They ran in silence, arriving at the Sunken Riverboat. The Assassins’ two horses were stabled beside the inn, which Dean and Sam rushed into. They ignored the protesting grooms and stablehands, throwing saddles onto the backs of their horses. 

“Baby, I have missed you,” Dean said, stroking Imp’s mane and pressing his forehead against Imp’s. “Thanks for taking care of her, Sammy.”

Sam nodded, leading Pallas out of the stable towards where Charlie was waiting astride a gray mare. He mounted up, looking back over his shoulder at his brother. 

“Who is Castiel, Dean?” Sam said suddenly as his brother swung into the saddle. 

Dean hesitated. “Later, Sam. Let’s just focus on getting to the villa.”

Sam bit his tongue. Dean would have to tell him about his incarceration eventually, even if Sam had to pull the information out of him. So much was happening right now...

“Let’s ride, bitches.” Charlie said, digging her heels into her horse’s side. The Assassins followed her, galloping through the city and out into the lush countryside. Farmers, merchants, and shoppers running morning errands parted to allow them to pass. 

Please let us not be too late, Sam prayed to whatever god he hoped was listening. Please let us get there in time.


	20. Collapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author tries her best to encapsulate what Castiel tried to tell Dean in his letter, in the page that the Assassin didn't finish reading. Castiel fights his way to the Villa at Monterigioni.
> 
> sorry this took a while, i had a midterm the other day and i have a lot of school stuff to catch up on :(

He didn’t, obviously. 

But if Dean had read the second page of the note Castiel had left on his bed, he would have known several things before he did. Like the fact that Cas had checked up on him while he slept. He would have known That Cas had actually read that romance novel Dean recommended, the one Cas had given Dean when he first came to Santa Carlotta. He agreed with Dean, by the way, that the set-up was stereotypical. He did rather like the ending, though. 

If Dean had read the second page of Castiel’s letter, he would know that Dean was the first friend that Cas had made outside the Order in years...in ever, if he was being totally honest. 

If Dean had read the second page of the letter, he would know how much it hurt Cas, how badly Castiel wanted Dean to understand that he had to tell Gabriel about Monterrigioni. That if Cas hadn’t told him, Gabriel would have had Dean killed. Dean wouldn’t care about that, he’d still be livid. Cas knew that, he said. He wasn’t looking for forgiveness, he said that too. He just wanted Dean to know why Castiel did the things that he did. 

And if Dean had read the third page of the letter, he might have known that Cas was starting to develop feelings for him. Not just the brotherly, friend-kind of feelings Cas would already be expelled from the Order for, if anyone discovered that what he felt for Dean was anything more than pity and the forced companionship of an assigned mission.

Cas meant romance novel-style feelings. He hadn’t said it that way, he had put it much more eloquently, using the entire page and the backside of it to explain just how he felt.

But Dean still wouldn’t have known that, even if he had read the whole letter, since Cas hadn’t included the third page in the envelope. 

He had considered it, before he healed Dean’s leg. But in a moment of fear, Cas pulled the page before pressing the stamp of the Templar Order into the red hot wax. Cas hadn’t felt attracted to very many people in his life, and the few that he had ever felt anything for had been women. He barely knew how to handle his normal feelings. Now he was attracted to a man? It was unheard of, as far as Cas knew. He was afraid, deathly afraid of what Dean would even think of him. Would he think him sick, perverted for even feeling that way? Would he lose his only friend? Castiel was afraid, and so he burned the third page minutes after he finished it. 

Dean would never have read the third page of the letter, but if he did, maybe Cas would be surprised by how he reacted.  
\--------

Monteriggioni was aflame. 

The wooden porches of homes burned, the yellow fire consuming the scaffolding and structure holding the houses together. Black ash was swirling up and into the sky with the hot Tuscan wind, and the screams of trapped civilians pierced the air. Horses ran every which direction, freed from their stables and without saddle or harness. 

Castiel watched the smoke rise into the sky as he led his group of soldiers through the village, stepping back to allow a trio of chestnut horses gallop past, fear in their eyes and riding them out of the city. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel saw a hooded figure struggling with a door to a small home. The thatched roof was slowly burning away, and Cas could see that the ceiling would cave in soon. Every time the Assassin rammed into the door, pleas and screams for help flooded out onto the street. Cas froze. 

“Everyone, press forward to the villa. Avoid the barricades--they could still be traps.” Two of Cas’s Guarda members had gotten ambushed at the last barricade they had encountered. As soon as the company had come to a stop, a pair of Assassins had dropped down from the rooftops around them, taking down two of Crowley’s men. 

The Templars agreed wordlessly and the remaining Guarda mumbled their assent, continuing on down the dirt-packed street towards the villa. As soon as they were out of sight, Cas ran over to the Assassin who was still frantically pulling at the door of the burning house. Cas hip-checked the hooded figure out of the way, wedging his blade in the door and kicking against it. The door gave a bit, but remained locked.

Cas leaned on the knife again, looking around desperately. The hooded figure stood across from him, motionless. Cas couldn’t see the man’s eyes, but his mouth was open in shock. The senseless screams from inside the house had gine quiet, replaced by ragged coughing.

“Help me, damn it!” Cas shouted at the Assassin as he pushed against his blade again, this time leaning the whole of his weight against the handle. The Assassin started, coming up beside Castiel. Together, the Templar and Assassin pushed, and for a moment, nothing happened. 

Then the door flew open and the two men catapulted forward, nearly falling together into a pile. Castiel caught himself as the Assassin flew past him, flopping to his hands and knees in a moment that made Cas wonder briefly at the famed grace of the Assassins. His hood flew back, revealing a young man no more than twenty years old. Asian, probably Chinese if Castiel was correct. The young man’s eyes narrowed as Cas offered him his hand. 

“Come on, we don’t have time for your pride. There are innocent people in there, now get up!” 

“Fine.” The Assassin gripped Cas’s gloved hand, pulling himself upright. They fell into the house, and Cas could barely see through the thick gray smoke billowing through the home. In the center of the open room, three children sat coughing around a skinny old man. Cas pulled a boy up onto his back and lifted the protesting grandfather in his arms, and immediately dove out of the building. He could hear the Assassin behind him, fast on his heels, and could only hope that he had grabbed the other two children. 

The roof collapsed, falling in on the house, but Castiel, the Assassin, and the choking children and elder were clear of the debris by the time it fell in. Cas bent his knees, allowing the young boy to scramble to the ground and helping the old man to his feet.

The old man rubbed his eyes as he swayed on his feet. “I thought for sure we were done for, me and all my nipotini,” He said, gesturing to the ashen children. “How can I ever…” 

His voice faltered as he looked at Castiel for the first time, eyed the tan templar robes and the blood-colored crosses on each breast, stylized x’s. “....thank…” he mumbled, his forehead creasing in horror and recognition. Castiel bowed his head, turning and picking up his blade from where it had flown after they forced the door open.

Cas nodded to the Assassin, his expression unreadable, before running off down the street after the rest of his soldiers. He was trying to save as many as he could. Innocent people who didn’t deserve to die, he told himself as he raced towards the villa. Even if it hadn’t been for Dean, he wouldn’t have condoned the kind of destruction being wreaked on Monteriggioni. 

But would you have gone to the trouble of saving those people, a tiny part of him whispered. Would you have cared enough to do anything about it? Sure, you would have been uncomfortable, you may even had said something about it after it was all said and done, the voice went on. But only afterwards. You’re doing this for Dean….and you think it will matter to him. You think it will matter that you pulled a few brats from a fire. He’ll still hate you, despise you with everything he is made of. 

“Shut up,” Cas spat aloud as he dodged a skirmish of guards and Assassins. His long robes caught on a mangled pile of furniture, yanking him backwards as he attempted to vault over it. 

“Gotcha!” A triumphant voice called from above, and a sharp pain pierced Cas’ right side. behind him stood a lone assassin, blonde hair falling out from beneath her hood. “You look pretty important.” The girl said. She moved slowly...everything was moving slowly. A part of Castiel realized that whatever she had stabbed him with had been poisoned,was slowing him down and making things seem wrong. Everything was wrong. But a part of him could only watch as she lifted her arm, clenched her fist, and brought it down, hard, on the back of his head. He spun, tripping over his caught robes, and fell to the ground. His vision faded from red to black, the fires on the street leaving bright spots behind his eyelids as his eyes closed.


	21. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Charlie make it to Monteriggioni, to find the village on fire.
> 
> I think this is my favorite chapter so far this was so fun to write im dying 
> 
> i was dying and then i died now im dead

It could have been any day. The sun rising high over the Tuscan countryside, throwing bright orange light across the patchwork quilted fields. Dean was pushing Imp, her muscles surging as the pent up energy of being trapped in a stable for the last few days was released with every strike of her hooves against the packed dirt of the country road. Sam tried his best to avoid his brother’s dust cloud, urging Pallas forward to charge alongside his sister.

It could have been any other day, apart from the violent panic coursing through Sam’s veins. He could feel it coming from Dean too. White hot panic, thoughtless, aimless panic, flowed between them. Normally Sam would have tried to get a handle on it, control his emotions. He needed his judgement to be unclouded. But he was tired of controlling his emotions. He had just gotten his brother out, gotten him back, and now the rest of his family was in danger. His home. The Templars threatened their home. 

So the boys didn’t race each other, as they would normally have, tossing their heads back and laughing as they each tried to get ahead of the other. This was no triumphant return home from Florence after a mission, after an errand run, after a weekend of debauchery and laughter. 

The brothers ran with the desperate fury of men who know they have already lost. They knew it, but they refused to accept it. 

“Come on, baby. We’ve got to get there.” Sam could just barely hear Dean murmur into his horse’s ear. The walls of Monterrigioni came within sight as the trio came up over a hill, stopping to take in the scene before them. 

“Dio mio,” Charlie breathed, her gray mare coming to a halt beside the Assassins. Smoke billowed up from different sections of the Village, churning dark ash into the sky. The strong wind blew the smoke up the hill and towards the trio, flowing around them. Sam coughed, purging the smoke from his lungs. 

Beside him, Dean pulled up on his horse’s reins, shooting Sam a look. Sam glared back. They were prepared for the worst, though they dreaded it. Sam jabbed his heels into Pallas’ sides, tugging back on the reins. The massive strawberry roan reared, screaming a challenge into the smoking air. Dean laughed as Imp followed suit, mimicking her brother. The two horses leapt forward, charging down the path and towards the open gates of the village. Charlie followed behind them, drawing her hooked blade and murmuring under her breath. Something about drama queens, Sam thought he heard. 

Chaos. It was complete chaos. Flaming barricades blocked roads, and dead and dying bodies leaned against buildings. Mostly Guarda, Sam noticed, as they galloped through the streets. Dean hadn’t said it, but he was headed for the villa, Sam knew. If anyone was still alive, still fighting, they would be there. Jo, Ellen, Robi, the servants, every Assassin in the brotherhood...they had all been put in danger. All for a little book, Sam wondered to himself in disbelief. 

If this is just about a damn book, that stupid fucking ledger, they can have it, Sam thought bitterly. Dean’s capture, torture, and the death of God only knew how many in Monteriggioni. None of it was worth it, whatever it was. Whatever knowledge it contained wasn’t worth another drop of blood. 

They thundered down the main road, coming upon the stone double-staircase that curved up towards the villa. A pair of Templars stood with their backs to the road, swords and knives flashing, and had pinned a group of three young Assassins against the stairs. From the blue trim on the Assassins’ robes, Sam could tell they were apprentices. One of the Assassins knelt behind the others, an arm hanging at her side, limp and bleeding. She had her left arm raised over her head, wrist blade sheathed and her palm open, to shield herself from her enemies or to beg for mercy. Perhaps both. One of the Templars brought his blade up over his head, preparing to bring it down in a deadly arc.

The two Templars turned at the sound of hooves on the paved road, eyes widening in fear. Charlie had drawn her hooked stick, and was twirling it at her side like a madwoman. Dean had stood up in his saddle, and was now crouched on Imp’s back like an acrobat at a carnivale. He leapt from his horse, flying through the air and barreling into one of the Templars. Imp ran forward, charging towards the other Templar. She struck out with her front hooves, bashing at the screaming man’s chest and tearing at his face with her teeth. 

Charlie dismounted and Sam followed her, drawing his sword from his belt. Dean had finished off the two Templars, and was stroking Imp’s black mane. The horse and master trembled with the fury of the fight, the need for more bloodshed surging between them. 

“You guys okay?” Sam asked the wide eyed apprentices. The three apprentices nodded, eyes flicking from Dean’s red hands to his horse’s dripping mouth. Blood. 

“Hey, where are people hiding out? The villa?” Sam asked

The girl with the bloody arm shook her head. “Robi wanted us to try and keep them off the Villa, so most of us have just been scattering. The Templars seem to have fallen back for now, but they’re still in the village.”

“Okay,” Sam said, nodding. If the Templars were after the ledger, the Villa was the first place they would go. His uncle had been right to keep civilians away. 

“You guys should get out of the village for now,” Charlie advised. “It looked like there were a few farms not far up the road: aim for them for now.”

The apprentices mumbled their thanks, bowing slightly to Sam and Dean as they limped down the street. 

“I take it you guys are kind of a big deal around here,” Charlie said, eyeing the departing Assassins. “I didn’t respect anyone like that when I was a teenager.”

Dean grinned despite the chaos. “We’re basically in charge around here.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Charlie said. “We should leave the horses here and keep going.” 

Dean patted Imp on the neck, leaving the jittery mare with the other two horses. In a normal situation, Pallas’ presence would have been enough to calm Imp down, but Sam’s horse seemed unnerved by the chaos around him. Pallas’ eyes were wide with fear, and he stamped his feet uncomfortably. Sam offered a quick prayer for the horses’ well being to whatever god may have been listening, and led the company up the stone stairs two at a time. 

The brothers and the thief ran past the fenced-in training circle at the top of the stairs, ignoring the blood splashed across the stone pathway. 

The facade of the Villa came into sight, and Sam nearly cried out. Outside the front door, on the lawn, stood his cousin Jo and an Assassin that Sam had never seen before. 

“Jo!” Dean yelled from behind Sam, pushing past his brother and running at his cousin. 

“Dean?!” Jo said, spinning around just in time for Dean to crash into her. He lifted her off her feet in a ferocious bear-hug. Sam heard Jo shriek in surprise, wrapping her arms around her cousin’s neck. After a moment she began pounding on his back with both fists. 

“Ouch, Jo--stop! You’re actually hurting--”

“Dean, don’t you ever go and get your dumb ass captured again! I swear to God, if you ever do that again…” Jo said, choking back a sob.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Dean said, extricating himself from Jo’s embrace. “We came as soon as we heard the Villa was under attack.” 

The Assassin standing with Jo had been quiet this whole time. He nudged Jo, clearing his throat. 

“Oh, yes. Sam, Dean, this is Kevin. He and his mother arrived last week from China.”

Sam leaned forward, clasping the young man’s hand. He coldn’t have been very far in age from Jo, and had probably just become a full fledged Assassin. “You picked a hell of a time to visit.” Sam said, patting him on the back. 

“Yeah. Great timing, kid.” Dean said, following suit. 

Kevin grinned. “Are things always this exciting?” He asked, dark eyes flashing from Dean’s bloody hands to Sam’s sword. 

“It’s certainly never boring.” Dean murmured.

Jo looked over Dean’s shoulder at Charlie, who had been standing awkwardly out of the way of the reunion. “Who’s this?”

“The name’s Charlie. I’m a friend. I think it’s best if we stow the rest of the meet and greet for now, don’t you guys?” She said, eyes flicking from the Villa to the columns of smoke rising from the buildings. 

“Yes,” Jo said, closing her eyes tightly. “Good idea. Mom, Robi, and Kevin’s mother are out in the town. They organized a push against the main body of the Templar forces. Last we heard, they were close to the wall.”

“Anything else?” Sam said. “You know they’re here for the…”

Jo nodded. “The stupid notebook. Yes. I’ve got it right here. Robi wanted to keep it in his study, but I told him that was ludicrous.” 

She pulled the leather bound book from a pocket within her white robes, showing Sam and .

“Sounds like we’ve got them on the run, then.” Dean said, dipping his head in thought. 

“Yeah, and Kevin and I have a bargaining chip too.” Jo said, leading the motley company into the Villa.

“What would that be?” Charlie asked. “The book?”

“Nope. Jo caught one of their captains.” Kevin said, reaching out and entwining his fingers with hers. Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean as Jo led them through the villa. Dean shrugged. There was definitely something going on between Kevin and Jo, you would have to be blind to miss that.

“Jo was amazing. She tipped her wristblade in a paralyzing agent, one I had with my medical stuff, and the Templar just goes down. I saw him in the streets before she took him down. He helped me save some kids from a collapsing roof.” Kevin shook his head in disbelief.

“He did what?” Dean asked sharply.

“I don’t know, man. I guess he grew a conscience.” Kevin said. 

Jo shrugged. “Who can understand the ways of the Templars? But maybe we can negotiate a truce. I think this one’s a captain or a lieutenant or something. Maybe they value him enough to stop if we threaten to kill him. Bargaining chip.” 

Sam saw his brother bite his lip, his brow furrowed in thought. 

They stopped outside the door to Robi’s study. “Give us a minute, guys,” Sam said, pulling Dean aside. 

“What?”

“Dean, are you okay? You’ve been acting kind of weird.” Sam said.

Dean met his younger brother’s gaze, his mouth set determinedly. “ ‘M fine, Sam.”

“Look, if you’re not ready to deal with the Templars yet, I completely get it--”

“I’m not broken, Sammy!” Dean interjected sharply. Jo, Charlie, and Kevin gave them worried looks. Dean took a deep breath. “I can do this.”

“Whatever you say, fratello. I’m just...I’m here for you, you know?” Sam said, clapping his brother on the shoulder. 

Dean nodded. “Thanks. But I’m fine, truly. Let’s just get this over with.” 

Bullshit, Sam thought. But he let it lie. Dean moved back to the group of people, and Sam followed. 

“He’s in here,” Jo said, leaning into the door of Robi’s study. Kevin, Charlie, and Sam followed her. Dean followed the motley crew of young killers and thieves, closing the door behind him. 

Everything in Robi’s study was as it had been the last time Dean had been there, before he and Sam had gone on their ill-fated mission a month ago. Red and gold tapestries covered each window, allowing what little sunlight that made it through the column of smoke outside to filter between the tapestries and the window frame, casting odd polygons of light across the floor. Books were stacked on every flat surface available, and empty wine bottles lay scattered across the carpet around his uncle’s desk. 

The one oddity in the office leaned against a bookcase, breathing unevenly. The bright light from the window fell across his torso, illuminating a dark red stain against the Templar’s tan, sleeveless robes. A hand was pressed to his wound, bloodying the puffed sleeves of his undershirt. Sam moved to the window, pulling the tapestry aside to allow more light into the room. He started.

The Templar on the floor was the one from Sam’s dream. The dark haired, blue eyed man who had impaled him. Sam had watched him march away from the Santa Carlotta the night before, battle-ready and flanked by dozens of soldiers. The proud company had struck fear into Sam’s heart as he helplessly watched them set off to slaughter innocents. 

Nothing about this man was worthy of fear now. The Templar blinked, struggling to focus on the many figures in the room. His eyes settled on the figure behind Sam, and his mouth moved in an attempt to speak. 

Dean moved out from behind Sam to get a better look at the Templar. He froze a foot in front of his brother. 

“Everybody out.” Dean said quietly.

“What? Are you crazy? We need him alive, Dean,” Jo protested after a moment of shocked silence. 

“He was my jailer. I’m not planning on killing him.” Dean said, enunciating each word. He didn’t turn around. Sam’s eyes flicked from Kevin to Jo to Charlie. None of them moved. 

Then Charlie spun quickly, pulling the door open. “We have better stuff to do, guys. Come on.”

Kevin and Jo followed her out. Sam hesitated. 

“You too, Sammy. I’ve got this one.” Dean said, cracking his knuckles. 

Sam opened his mouth to protest. Leaving Dean alone with someone he had had a prophetic dream about seemed like a bad idea. 

Dean turned his head slightly, glaring at his brother out of one eye. He held his gaze for a moment, then turned back to the Templar. For a moment, Sam nearly felt bad for the Templar.

Sam opened the door, leaving his brother alone with his jailer. 

\------------

Everything seemed fuzzy to Cas. He had been stabbed, he knew that for certain. The pain in his side was proof enough of that. 

The Assassins had brought him to some room. Red. There was red all over the room, covering the windows and the floors. Flowing out of him, the red. He could fix it, he knew how. He could heal, he had some kind of power...but he couldn’t quite harness it. Castiel couldn’t think clearly enough to get it. It was there, he knew it. He just couldn’t GET it. So he did the only other thing he knew to do, pressing his palm against his side. Stop the red, stop the blood. 

He heard a noise. A door, squeaking open. Footsteps. 

He couldn’t have done anything about the footsteps, they had invaded his silent, dark, red room. Stop the red, the blood. Pooling around him, in shadows across the room from him. One, Two, Three, Four, Five. Five red shadows, murky. Maybe they weren’t even there. Castiel thought, closing his eyes. It’d be nice if they weren’t there. He could be alone again. Things were simple when he was alone, in the dark. In the red.

Just like that, the dark was gone, replaced by bright white light streaming in through the window and piercing through some of the haze around Castiel’s mind. He squeezed his eyes shut in pain.

One of the figures stepped forward and spoke. “Everybody out.” There was some debate, and then three of the figures left. After another moment of muddled conversation, the tallest figure left, leaving Castiel alone with the one who had spoken first. In a jolt of clarity, he realized who it was.

His lips tried to form the Assassin’s name, but his breath caught. He choked, tried again. 

“Dean.”

Dean moved quietly across the room towards Castiel. 

Castiel knew Dean would kill him. He didn’t blame him at all. Castiel had betrayed Dean’s trust in every way imaginable, leaving him trapped in a basement beneath a church, surrounded by his mortal enemies as Cas marched out to burn his home to the ground. 

Well, Cas thought, as Dean stopped in front of him, blocking the light from the window, at least it’ll be over soon. Even if Dean decided to torture him, he couldn’t do that forever. 

I wonder if he read my letter, he wondered. 

Cas closed his eyes and waited for death.

Suddenly, he felt cool, soothing fingers on his face. A hand caressed his cheek, beating back the fire that bloomed beneath Castiel’s skin.

“Cas? Cas, wake up. It’s me. Come on, man.”

“Just kill me” Cas murmured.

“What? It’s just a scratch, amico.” Dean said with a shaky laugh. “It’s not mortal. You’re not getting out that easy.”

“You’re not...angry?” Castiel opened his eyes, focusing on Dean’s green ones. His friend’s head was tilted down, and Dean blinked at him with a wry smile. 

“Of course I’m freakin’ livid. You didn’t tell me you were bringing the party to my place.” He said, gesturing to the villa around them. 

Cas tried to sit up, his vision becoming clearer. It seemed like the poison was working its way through his system. 

Then again, this whole thing could be an illusion. The Assassin before him could be a conjuration of his drugged mind. Wishful thinking made visible. He almost believed it was fake, that Dean wasn’t there. It was the only explanation for why the Assassin hadn’t struck him down. 

But even in Castiel’s most wild imaginings, he’d never be able to perfectly capture Dean as he was, kneeling inches from his face. He was beautiful. Castiel resolved to tell him so, if not today then someday. Definitely before he died. For the first time ever, Castiel noticed Dean’s freckles. Barely a shade darker than the Assassin’s skin, they were nearly indiscernible from his perfect complexion. That was what convinced him that Dean was real, those freckles. Cas could never have come up with those on his own. 

Dean pulled Cas to his feet, examining the laceration in Cas’s side. He frowned, sliding out one of his wrist blades and cutting off one of his sleeves. He tore the seam of the sleeve, folding it up and pressing it into Castiel’s wound. 

“Keep pressure on that. You should be fine soon enough.” Dean said.

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s not medical science, Cas. You put pressure on it to stop the blood flow so you don’t bleed out.”

“Yes, Dean, I’m familiar with the concept of circulation. I meant, why aren’t you killing me?”

Dean’s forehead creased in a look of consternation. ‘Why would I want to hurt my best friend?” He patted Cas on the back, and the Templar nearly fell to the ground again with the shock of the contact and the sentiment.

Cas could think of several reasons why Dean would want to hurt him, but he bit his tongue. “Uh, okay. What...what do we do next?”

Dean’s smile vanished. “I think we’ve got most of the Templars on the run, on the way out of the village. Jo said they were at the wall.”

Cas shook his head violently, and the room spun. “No way we would give up that easy, Dean. It has to be a trap.”

“A trap? You’re serious?” Dean asked. Cas nodded. “Okay, then we need to get down to the gate. Jo’s got the ledger, so if it comes to that we can offer that as a truce. Do you think they would take it? Take the stupid thing and stop the fighting?” Dean asked, desperation coloring his voice. 

Cas sighed. “I can’t guarantee anything, Dean. But it is what we came here for. Perhaps it will be enough to make Michael see reason.”

“Worth a shot, then, isn’t it?” Dean said, leading Cas out of the office. “Come on, amico. I’ve got some friends for you to meet.”

Castiel let Dean lead him out of the office, leaning into the Assassin’s shoulder for support as the two men emerged into the marble foyer to four shocked faces. 

“Guys, this is Castiel. Cas, welcome to the Brotherhood!”


	22. Requiescat In Pace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas, Dean, Sam, Charlie, Kevin, and Jo organize a plan to stop the battle. 
> 
>  
> 
> there is so much pain here ow i hurt a lot there is a special place in hell for people like me and i would like to reserve a space there now for people who treat beautiful characters like this badly please someone stop me 
> 
> I HAVE NO CHILL

Sam was speechless. He had expected his brother to emerge from their Uncle’s office with red knuckles and a blood-spattered face, the Templar within beaten within an inch of his life. Instead, Dean was supporting their bleeding captive, who still had one hand clutching his side. His half-lidded eyes flicked from face to face nervously. After taking in the disapproving glare of Jo, Kevin’s unhidden surprise, and Charlie’s wide-eyed expression, the Templar’s gaze settled on Sam. He stared at the Assassin with painful intensity, and there was something there in his eyes that made Sam’s head hurt. He closed his eyes, pressing a hand to his forehead. 

His eyes, they weren’t normal. Something was off about them, they weren’t the way they should be. Sam could feel it in this man, and he couldn’t shake the sense of lingering dread that hung over his head from his dream, that this Templar would end up being their undoing.

“Welcome to the Brotherhood!” Dean said, clapping the Templar on the back.

Charlie bit her lip, whispering,“Hell, no. I did not sign up for this.” 

“Is this some kind of joke?” Sam almost shouted, eyes drilling into his brother. “Dean, we are in the middle of a war. Whatever sick prank you’re trying to pull can wait until after we get Monteriggioni under control.” Sam swallowed the bile rising in his stomach, stepping forward to grip the prisoner’s shoulder. The whistle of metal on metal sang past Sam’s ear, and Dean’s blade shot out between Sam’s open palm and the Templar’s shoulder. 

\-------

Dean had only pulled his wristblades on Sam once before, when they were still apprentices. The brothers had been out drinking in a bar in Firenze, on the anniversary of their mother’s death, and Sam and Dean may have been a bit drunker than was advisable for teenagers who knew dozens of ways to kill a person. They had spent the last hour talking about their mother, tears stinging their eyes and wine numbing their pain. Then Sam had brought up their father. Their father who, at that time, had been on a “freelance mission” for the better half of a year. That was code for missing in action. Sam wasn’t worried about him, and neither was Dean. If anyone knew how to take care of himself, it was Jon Vincense. 

“Well, why would he just up and leave us if it wasn’t important, Sam? He knows what he’s doing,” Dean said, as the two boys ambled down the dark streets of Florence

“I don’t know, maybe it’s...” Sam hiccupped, almost falling against his brother. Dean patted him on the shoulder, pulling his brother in the direction of the inn they had been staying at. “Nah. It’s nothing.” Sam said, shaking his head. 

“No, man what were you going to say?” Dean said. That was back when they were at the same height. Dean had just begun to realize that his little brother would soon tower over him, and he had not been taking the news very well. 

“I was just gonna say...um, that whatever it is shouldn’t be more important than us, than family,” Sam said, stopping to lean against a wall and close his eyes. His voice turned bitter. “That’s what got us into this right? Maybe if Dad had been paying more attention to Mom, she would still be alive now.” Sam laughed. “Hey, man, I’m just saying…”

Sam felt something heavy thunk into the brick wall beside him. His eyes flashed open to take in Dean’s head inches from his own, a half crazed smile on his face and his eyebrows raised in violent amusement. The thunk had come from Sam’s left: Dean’s arm leaned against the wall beside him, blade out. 

“Sammy, I love you, brother. But right now, I need you to stop talking unless you want to get hurt. Because I will kill you if you ever talk about my father, my mother….our parents that way, you won’t have to worry about talking to Dad anymore. You just won’t be able to talk.” 

Sam’s eyes moved nervously from Dean’s blade to his face. 

“I’m threatening to cut your tongue out, Sam. Just wanted to make that clear.” 

“Yeah, I got that.” Sam said, shoving his brother away from him. “Calm the hell down.” 

Dean grunted, sheathing his weapon and following his brother down the street. “Whatever.” 

\-------

Sam stepped back, blasted back by the fire in his brother’s expression. Eyes narrowed and jaw set, all levity was gone. Dean had thrown himself between his brother and a...Templar? Sam’s head spun. 

“His name is Cas, Sam. And this isn’t a joke. Castiel saved my life, more than once. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here right now. And from what it sounds like, neither would foreign exchange here,” Dean said through gritted teeth, pointing at Kevin. 

“Is that true, Kevin?” Charlie asked.

Kevin shrugged. “I guess. If it weren’t for him, those kids probably would not have made it out of that building alive. I don’t think I could have done it on my own.” he admitted, turning to the prisoner. “So, uh, thanks I guess.”   
The Templar dipped his head, acknowledging the sentiment. Dean shifted, relaxing slightly and sheathing his wristblade. 

Jo shook her head, discomfort rolling off of her in waves. “Whatever the hell is going on with you Dean, it needs to wait. We are in the middle of a battle.”

“And I can end it,” the Templar spoke up for the first time, his voice low and gruff. 

Jo turned to fix him with narrowed eyes. “While we appreciate and accept your individual surrender, Templar, we have your Order on the run. Last we heard the fighting had worked it’s way back to the outer wall.” 

Sam nodded, clearing his throat. “For all we know, the battle could be over.”

Dean frowned. “Cas thinks it’s a trap.” 

“And why would he think that? Maybe because he helped plan it?” Sam said, spitting out “plan” like it was a curse. The Templar shifted uncomfortably. 

Sam laughed. “This is not some innocent kid who got mixed up with the law--”

“Do you trust me?” Dean interrupted his brother, closing his eyes. 

Sam’s brow furrowed and he ran a hand through his hair. “What does that have to do with---” 

“I just need you to trust me on this one, Sam. I don’t normally ask for a lot. And I know this is a lot.” Dean said. “But lives are in danger. We need to get out there right now, work out some kind of plan to get the Templars out once and for all.” 

Charlie interrupted the brother’s staring contest, stepping between the two with raised hands: “Sam trusts you, for now at least, Dean. Cas, we need you to tell us exactly what you know.”

The Templar nodded, clearing his throat and standing a little taller. “You’re right, they’re here for the notebook. It’s a birth record, and Michael and Gabriel think it contains information on the identity of the next sage in there.”

“Sage?” Charlie asked. 

Jo stepped forward. “People who tend to have a connection to First Civilization stuff. They always have mismatched peepers. That’s as much as we know,” she gestured to Castiel uncomfortably. “Unless the Templars have something to add?”

He hesitated, then spoke up. “My brothers and sisters think that they have a way to extract knowledge from the Sages. Locations of Pieces of Eden, perhaps. Who knows what else we could learn.”

“‘Learn’ sounds a bit like ‘torture’ to me, amico.” Kevin said, scratching his jaw. 

“That’s not important right now,” Castiel said. “What they do to Monterrigioni, that’s important.”

“Why do you care?” Jo asked quietly.

Dean protested. “We don’t have time for this right now. We need to--”

“I care because I’m not a monster, and I am not a machine.” Castiel interrupted. “I see no justice behind a senseless massacre of innocents. And I care because the destruction of the Assassin Brotherhood does not mean the victory of Templar Order. That is brought about through balance. What balance is ever brought by the complete destruction of a system?” Castiel sighed, as if the explanation had exhausted him. 

Sam blinked in surprise. That answer made sense, and still no situation could have seemed more insane to him. 

“If I take the ledger to Michael, there may be a chance that he will stop the fighting.”

“A chance.” Charlie said with a breathy laugh. 

Deann smiled. ”I’ve got a plan.” 

Jo’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t protest. Sam couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something a little more powerful about her. She stood up straighter, spoke a little clearer. She’s becoming a leader, Sam realized suddenly. 

“Let’s hear it,” Kevin said. 

As Dean spoke, the mixed group of Italians, foreigners, Assassins, a Templar and a thief furrowed their brows in thought. 

“That’s kind of dangerous, don’t you think?” Charlie hedged. 

Dean shrugged. “If anyone’s got a better idea, now would be the time to speak up.” 

Silence. 

“Great.” Dean said, steering Castiel past Sam and into the kitchen. “We need to move quickly.”

Sam shook his head as the others turned to give each other stunned looks. Charlie rubbed her eyes, repeating to herself softly, “This is not what I signed up for at all.”

Sam agreed with her silently. 

\---------------

Castiel sat astride Pallas, the huge strawberry roan dwarfing the man riding him. Dean and Charlie had leaned him across the saddle in a pathetic slump, splashed in blood and what (if you looked closely) was a mixture of tomato paste, chicken blood, and some other random ingredients the group had managed to scrounge out of the kitchen. 

Dean thought it looked believable. Cas looked near-death, and it didn’t hurt that the Templar did have an actual wound. 

Dean hooked his foot into Imp’s stirrup, swinging into the saddle. He and Charlie would escort Cas to the gate of the village, where the last of the skirmish was beginning to wind down. A nervous tangle had started to form in Dean’s gut. He was about to deliver Cas to the Brotherhood’s most powerful enemies, which every fiber of Dean’s being rebelled against. 

Even if Cas was one of them, it still felt wrong. Every part of him wanted to get Jo, Castiel, and Sam out of the village. Cut and run, leave these assholes to sort it out amongst themselves. They had all given enough. 

But then he thought of his uncle, the closest thing he had to a father. Ellen, who was as much a mother to him as his Mother had been. All the Assassins and villagers Dean and Sam had trained with, worked to build lives with...they deserved more. 

The three set off, saluting Sam, Kevin, and Jo, who would be following them on foot. They trotted through the quiet village, and it occurred to Dean to wonder when the last time he had slept was. He looked over at Cas, whose hands were bound behind him. The blood running down the side of his face looked so real...Dean clenched a fist. It’s just fake, he assured himself. It’s fake, you know what you’re doing. Cas knows what he’s doing. 

I wonder when the last time Cas slept was, Dean thought, his eyes flicking to the dark creases beneath Castiel’s eyes.

Charlie whistled to get his attention, and Dean looked away from their bloody hostage. Ahead of them, between the horses and the gates, a thick column of smoke billowed up from the street.  
“Are those…” Charlie asked, staring at the ground in horror.

Dean shook his head in disgust. “Come on.” He led the trio around the pile of blackened corpses, the nervous lump in his gut suddenly threatened by nausea.

Cas’ eyes passed over the corpses as they moved on. He said nothing. 

As they approached the gate, the sounds of battle became louder and louder. The thief, Templar, and Assassin emerged into the road before the gate, on the other side of the charred bodies and stopped dead. 

A dozen or so Templars and Assassins fought in the dusty road, all covered in blood and soot. Dean scanned the crowd of fighters for familiar faces. He knew most of the Assassins by face if not name, and he even caught sight of the Templar Uriel fighting two Assassins on his own. 

“Nipote!” “Dean!”

Dean looked up at the sound of his voice coming from the ramparts above him. Monterrigioni’s formidable wall rose thirty feet above his head, and standing on the parapet were Ellen and Robi. Robi had tears in his eyes.

“You’re alive, son!” Robi called down to his nephew. 

Dean laughed. “Yeah. And look what you’ve done with the place while I’ve been out!” He yelled above the roar of battle. 

“Ellen thought you were dead...ow!” Robi said, grinning and rubbing his head where Ellen had whacked him.

“I did not! He’s making it up!” Ellen said, hefting a crossbow and aiming expertly into the fray. She fired, and a Templar went down. 

“No. I would never…” Robi said, leaning over the wall to get a better look at his nephew. His smile froze on his face, and he choked. He kept leaning over, further, further, over and over until…

Ellen shrieked as Robi pitched forward over the wall. Time slowed down as he fell, his body falling like a ragdoll through space. Dean’s grin melted away in horror, and he leapt from his saddle, sprinting towards his uncle. 

Part of him knew that he wouldn’t get there in time. Part of him knew that even if he had, there was no way he could stop Robi from falling. 

Dean ducked under swinging blades of the skirmish, ramming bodies out of the way regardless of uniform. 

He could hear nothing but the blood pumping in his ears, see nothing but his uncle tumbling down the wall. 

Robi’s body hit the ground with a sickening crunch. Dean’s mouth opened in a soundless scream as he fell to Robi’s side. He rolled his uncle over, searching for a pulse. Nothing. 

A silver blade was buried in his back. Robi had died before he hit the ground.

Dean tipped his head back, his eyes working their way up the wall as if they looked through water. 

At the top of the wall, clutching Ellen’s arm, stood a balding Templar Dean had never seen before. His gray eyes were cold as they gazed back at Dean, his face expressionless. 

Dean looked over his shoulder helplessly at Castiel and Charlie, who were frozen in their saddles. Charlie looked at Dean with pity, while Cas glared at Michael murderously. 

Not Robi, Dean thought. “I can’t lose you, too,” Dean said quietly, biting back a sob. “I am sorry, uncle.” Hot tears burned their way down his face as he reached up and, with one hand, slid the Master Assassin’s eyes closed. 

“Requiescat in Pace.”


	23. Leap of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Robi's death, the gang attempts to deal with the battling forces of Assassins and Templars. 
> 
> Sorry this one is short and took a long time, I had like three research papers due today. :) 
> 
> ST ILL NO CH ILL

Sam and Kevin chased after Jo, tripping over broken furniture and lifeless bodies. Moments ago, they had watched with open-mouthed horror as they watched the leader of the Florentine Assassins fall from the wall above the gate of the village. 

Jo was vaguely aware of the men following her, but she didn’t bother looking over shoulder to share horrified glances with the Assassins. The scene kept replaying in her mind: she had been coming around the corner of the main road leaning out of the village, flipping through the ledger in search of the name of the prospective sage. Her brow had narrowed in confusion at what she had found.

“You find anything?” Kevin asked as they walked along, keeping a guiding arm on her elbow as they walked. 

“Yes, but it’s weird. Somethings not right...It seems like--”

“Jo.” Sam had said, holding a long, blue-cloaked arm out and pointing at the ramparts of Monterrigioni. Jo looked up just in time to catch sight of the tiny forms of her parents, leaning over the wall and calling down to figures blocked by a smoking pile of bodies. Her mouth pulled up in a grin. The Templar that they had taken prisoner had made Jo anxious with his talk of traps. Jo let out a nearly inaudible sigh of relief at the sight of her mother and stepfather. 

Jo’s smile melted from her face, drooping into an ugly mask of horror as her stepfather fell from the wall. Robi disappeared from her view, falling and falling and being swallowed up by the smoke billowing from the bodies. 

That had been almost ten seconds ago. Jo ran, head free of everything but the vision of her stepfather falling, and a distinct sense that what was happening was not real. Every sense that Jo possessed told her that the events of this day had happened: Jo could smell the smoke of her home on fire, hear the clang of metal on metal of battle. She tasted the tears that rolled down her face, even if she couldn’t remember the last time she had cried. She could feel every groove on the inside of her gloves, through her balled up fists and down to the end of her fingertips. But she could not for the life of her make sense of what her eyes had just seen; her stepfather, the strongest man she had ever known, who had been more of a father to her than any man, who had braided her hair after her mother taught him how, until she told him it was too girly, a style not fit for a warrior.  
\--------  
She still remembered the pain in his eyes, that rainy afternoon when they were reading together and she told him she didn’t want her hair in a braid anymore. None of the other ten-year old Assassins had braids, she had said angstily. They had short hair, cut to their shoulders or even as short as Dean’s. Robi had mumbled an apology and left her alone in his study, returning a few minutes later with a leather strap. Tiny, razor sharp-barbs spiked both sides of the strap. “It’s for when Templars try to take a pass at you, so they get what they’re coming for.” He had said, his eyes shining. They spent the next twenty minutes trying to get the strap in her plait in a way that would remain hidden, and keep the barbs off of her neck. He had cursed quietly every time he nicked his finger on the spikes, making Jo giggle. “Don’t tell your mother I said that, okay?” He said, adjusting her braid. 

“How does it look?” She had asked, running over to the looking glass on one wall of the study. Jo examined the plait--the spikes and straps were well hidden within the blonde strands. 

“Pretty badass,” Robi had said, patting her on the shoulder and grinning so hard his cheeks turned red. “You’re gonna be a fighter, hon. I just know it”  
\---------

That man had disappeared behind the wall of smoke before her. 

It had been fifteen seconds since he had fallen from the wall. 

“Hey, Jo!” Sam yelled as she approached the smoking pile of bodies. She didn’t slow, leaping up and over the corpses, flying through the gray air and rolling to break her fall on the other side. 

The scene before her was chaos. 

The dirt road before the gate to Monterrigioni was damp with blood in patches, and Templars and Assassins both had stopped fighting. A loose dozen or so fighters stood in the square, eyes focused on the body in the middle of the road, or on the two figures that struggled on the wall above. Ellen was struggling with a middle aged, balding Templar who had her by the wrists. And over the body in the middle of the road crouched her cousin.

The fire that had driven Jo to sprint down the street and leap over the smoldering bodies had gone. She made her way slowly towards her cousin, and her stepfather’s body, every step sending blood sluggishly through her body. As she approached, the remaining battered Assassins lowered their gazes, tipping back their hoods and lowering their heads.

Dean turned around at the sound of her squelching footsteps. His face was puffy, and his eyes were red. “Jo,” he croaked, eyes red with tears. “I couldn’t make it in time, Jo. I wasn’t fast enough.”

Jo ignored his pleas. She didn’t blame Dean, but right now she had no time for his grief. She didn’t have time for her own sorrow--they were still in the middle of a war. There would be time for that later.

“Mi dispiace, mio padre,” Jo said, kneeling down before her stepfather’s body. She examined the dark red stain on his doublet before leaning forward and pressing her lips to his forehead. 

“This is not over,” she said, lifting her gaze to Dean. Any trace of grief was gone, pushed from her body. She needed strength now, she needed Dean, and Sam, and Kevin. She needed them all, if the village was going to survive. 

Dean nodded, swiping at his eyes with a bloody sleeve

Jo rose, meeting the eyes of the warriors around her, Assassins and Templars around her. She was vaguely aware of the arrival of Sam and Kevin beside Castiel and Charlie. 

“Listen well,” Jo said, raising her voice for all to hear. “For I will not repeat myself. We have all lost much today. We all have lost friends, brothers, comrades that we have known for many years. Assassins and Templars alike have suffered today. If this struggle is to continue, we will destroy each other. No one walks away from this the winner. Understand that. This day has been a loss for all. But if you truly fight for Order as you so righteously claim, then have your leaders meet with me here! If you value justice, come down that we may talk of peace! We have what you came here for, and we have one of your leaders hostage.”

The Assassins called out in agreement, and Jo saw some of the Templars nodding in agreement. She looked up at her mother and the Templar on the wall, who had stopped fighting to listen to her speak. Jo gestured to her stepfather’s body “Let this be enough tragedy for one day. What say you?”

There was silence for a moment, followed by the voice of the Templar on the wall, the one who had released Ellen. “I would speak with you, Assassin.”

Jo nodded, watching the man make his way down the wall, taking the yellowed cobble stairs slowly. He had bound Ellen’s hands and he pushed her down the stairs in front of him. Tears streamed down her face, but she kept her head high. 

“Michael is the Grandmaster of the Florentine Order.” Castiel said, appearing at her shoulder. he was towed along by Kevin and Charlie, his hands bound behind his back. 

“He killed my father.” Jo said quietly.

Castiel’s eyebrows creased, and he dipped his head. “I am sorry, Jo. Perhaps if we had been sooner, this could have been averted.”

Jo watched Sam walk over to his brother, kneeling beside the body of their Uncle. Dean patted him on the back, rising and coming to stand beside Castiel and Jo. 

“You really do care, don’t you?” Jo said suddenly, examining Castiel. “About what’s right, I mean.”

Castiel lowered his voice as Michael approached them. “Nothing was just about the number of lives that were ended today, by men who were just following orders. That used to be all I knew how to do.”

“And now?”Jo breathed, conscious of the weight of the ledger in her inside pocket.

Castiel was silent, but Jo saw his eyes flicker to Dean’s face. 

Ah, Jo thought. That makes more sense. 

As Michael and Ellen came upon the group, the Templars around him touched their fists to their chests, melting out of his way. He stopped twenty feet away from Jo, who suddenly felt weak with rage. She had never been in the prescence of so powerful an enemy before, and this was the man who had taken Robi away from her, and her mother, her cousins, and the brotherhood. She ducked her head, biting her lip. It took everything she had not to leap across the distance between them and dig her blades into his smug face, over and over again, scarring him in the way that he had scarred her. 

She felt a hand on her shoulder. “Me too, kiddo,” Dean said, eyes on the Templar. “Me too.” Jo looked glanced behind her at the remaining members of her brotherhood, drawing strength from their trust. 

“Alright,” Jo said, lifting her gaze to meet Michael’s. “Let’s talk.”


	24. Con Una Sola Voce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Brotherhood waves a white flag for peace; Castiel makes an unsettling discovery about himself. 
> 
>  
> 
> Uh i wrote this on my phone in class cuz i have no chill and it kept trying to correct dean's name to my name cuz my phone is dumb k

Castiel fought back his anxiety, eyes flicking between his leader and the brotherhood of Assassins.

Michael had one hand on Ellen’s bound wrists, and Sam and Dean were eyeing him with rage. 

Jo’s face was unreadable, her eyes dry. 

Kevin and Charlie looked determined, masking any lack of conviction well. 

Cas took a deep breath, gathering strength from the determination of the brotherhood beside him. 

Whose side am I truly on, anymore? He wondered suddenly, doubting every decision he had made within the last forty-eight hours. You fight for peace, and for justice. You are for yourself, a tiny voice within him said. Even if you had no stake in these people, had never met Dean, you would still know that this was wrong. You would know that a massacre was not justice, and that a battle that destroys both sides leaves no victors. 

Perhaps, Cas countered to the little voice, But would I have gone so far as to plot with the enemy? To deliberately attempt to fool the leader of my Order? The little voice considered this silently, and didn’t respond. Castiel’d head began to hurt from all the internal arguing.

Michael stepped forward then, ignoring the Assassins and focusing on Cas. He spoke calmly, his voice carrying through the ravaged street. The battle-weary Assassins and Templars watched silently. 

“There you are, Castiel! We were starting to get worried about you, brother. Balthazar was just about to organize a search party to come looking for you.” Michael said, gesturing to the Templar that had appeared beside him.

Balthazar shot Cas a worried look before returning his attention to his leader. 

Jo strode forward, putting herself between Cas and Michael. Sam and Kevin moved behind her in unison, a silent guard. As they moved, Dean stepped quietly behind Cas, keeping a hold on the ropes binding his hands. 

“You sure about this?” Dean said under his breath, his voice barely audible. 

Cas exhaled a quiet laugh. “No. But I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

Dean was silent, and Cas guessed that he had nodded. 

“Cas, if we both make it out of this alive--”

“It’ll be a miracle, Dean.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, acknowledging the absurdity of the last two days. “I want you to meet me at the thieves guild’s hideout. The Sunken Riverboat. A week from tonight."

Cas nodded.

"You better be there," Dean said. "Or I'm going to have to get myself caught for something stupid. You'll have to drag me out of Crowli's prison again"

"You would get yourself captured and tortured by the guarda on the off chance that the Order would want to free you, and the even less likely chance that they would send me to rescue you again."

Dean simply chuckled in response. 

Cas didn't understand Dean's laughter at the thought of being tortured again. “I'll be there. We’ll have much to discuss, amico,” he said before turning his attention to the exchange taking place before them.

Michael was eyeing Jo with poorly-hidden derision. “I would speak with the leader of the Assassins, not some bambolina putana.”

Sam and Kevin simultaneously drew their wristblades, leaning forward into a crouch. Jo raised a hand, and the men twisted their forearms, sheathing their hidden blades, though they stayed in their guarded stance.

“The leader of the Assassins of Firenze lies there, where you dropped him. If you wished to have words with him, I would have suggested you attempt that before burying your knife in his back. Only a coward takes down his enemy so, without cause or honor.” Jo said. The Assassins around them murmured in agreement. Ellen nodded, tears streaming down her face. She had no way to wipe them, with both her arms tied behind her back.

Michael chuckled, a cold, quiet laugh that chilled Castiel to his core. He had never heard Michael laugh before. It was...unsettling. 

“The Assassins speak of honorable deaths, they who cut down our kind in the dark of night from behind the protection of their childish hoods.” The Templars in the street nodded. "They work in the dark!"

"...To serve the light." Cas murmured under his breath. Dean raises an eyebrow at the Templar, his expression amused.

“We are the Master Assassin's next of kin, and we speak with one voice.” Jo said, looking to Sam and Dean for support. Both brothers nodded. 

“The killing must stop, or there will be no one left to fight. You don’t have the numbers to continue this assault” Sam said, gesturing to the remaining Templars that stood watching in the dirt road.

“What they said.” Dean called from beside Cas. The setting sun lit up his eyes, revealing worlds of green and brown, unlimited sun-speckled fields and forests all across his irises. 

Michael grinned. “Eloquent as ever, Dean.”

Dean stiffened as Michael continued, addressing him. “Yes, I've heard quite a bit about you, Assassin. Amazing what information you can gather from a well-trained soldier. Speaking of, Castiel, what say you? You’ve been quite quiet this entire time. Or did they cut out your tongue?”

Cas cleared his throat. "There is no justice in needless death, Michael. No order is restored in mutual destruction, and we no longer have the numbers to win a decisive victory. We either walk away from this now, or face having to rebuild the Order from the ground up, again."

Cas took a deep breath, swaying on his feet. The lack of sleep and blood loss were beginning to make his head spin. He felt a warm, steadying hand on his back: Dean. Michael's gaze moved from Castiel to the Assassin, then he raised an eyebrow.

"It cannot continue. This battle is over" Cas coughed.

"Take heart, my captain." Michael said. "We have brothers and sisters through all Italia, throughout the world. Even if we fell today, order would still prevail. As long as man exists, so too will the Knights Templar."

"But I am not an idiot, and I recognize sound logic when I hear it. We are not an order suffering under the actions of suicidal heretics"

Cas let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. 

"Regardless, We are not leaving without what we came here for." Michael said, unblinking.

"An exchange, then? You Templars do love your business,” Jo said, pulling the ledger from her robes. Michael's eyes flashed.

Cas heard a yelp, followed by Charlie growling "Back off!" He dared not turn around, but he guessed that one of his brothers had made a move to grab at Jo as she revealed the book, and the fire-haired thief had stopped him violently. "Next time I'll take the whole foot off, asshole." 

"An honorable exchange. A captive for a captive, and I'll throw this in as a little thank you gift." Jo said, thumbing through the book lazily. "Call it a gesture of good faith" she said through gritted teeth. 

Michael narrowed his eyes, considering the offer. "How very big of you, girl. Perhaps you have nobility in you yet. Tell me, was he your father?"

Jo stiffened, and Ellen sobbed. 

"Do you accept?" Jo said loudly, ignoring Michael's question.

Michael sneered, his features pulling back in a serpentine grin. He pushed Ellen forwards towards the empty space between the two groups. 

Castiel stepped forward, feeling the departure of Dean's hand on his shoulder like the loss   
of his own limb, all warmth leaving his body.

"A week" Dean whispered.

Castiel nodded, shuffling forward to stand between Sam and Jo. The tall Assassin's eyes were hard, his jaw locked as he took the book from Jo, walking forward with the Templar beside him. The two men passed Ellen, whose eyes had turned cold. She stared at the broken body of her husband, still lying in the road where it had fallen. 

As Castiel passed her, he stopped. He knew that he shouldn't have, that Michael and Balthazar's eyes were drilling into him, analyzing every move that he made. He did it anyway.

"I am sorry for your loss. He seemed like he was a great man, to have raised and trained such an honorable brotherhood."

Ellen stiffened, raising her watery eyes to meet Castiel's. Her lower lip trembled.

"Thank you."

Cas dipped his head, and continued past her. Sam looked down at him in confusion, trying to reconcile the perception of his enemy with the scene that he had just witnessed. Castiel didn't blame him for his guardedness, perhaps under different circumstances they would have been instant friends.

Circumstance, the little voice within him said. Circumstance is the little bitch that will always be your undoing, Castiel. Whatever world, whatever universe, whatever form you take. Constants and variables, boy. And circumstance will never be your friend. 

What a strange thing to think to yourself, he thought, his head beginning to hurt.

Just ignore me, the little voice responded. 

Cas nearly jumped. This was not his consciousness speaking. It was something else. 

Who are you, he demanded of it. Show yourself.

Not just yet, the voice whispered. You have work to do, Castiel. Now seems like a bit of a bad time.

"What are you waiting for?" Michael's voice cut through Castiel's internal conversation.

Sam placed the book under Castiel's arm before stepping aside. Michael held his arms out to his brother, waiting for him to fall into his embrace. Cas awkwardly moved forward, practically falling into his leader's arms. He fought to keep the book pressed between his arms with his hands still bound behind him. Michael held him for a moment between strong arms before releasing him.

"Take care of him, Balthazar," Michael commanded, motioning for the English Templar to approach them. 

"Easy now Castiel. I've got you, mate." Balthazar said, pulling out his silver blade and cutting Cas' binds. His brow furrowed.

"They had you pretty loose, mate. You probably could have wiggled out of those binds if you really wanted to."

"What makes you think I didn't want to?" Cas snapped.

Balthazar held up his hands, his expression one of hurt. He laughed nervously. "It's joke, Cas. Let's have a look at that wound, yes?"

Balthazar poked at Castiel's side as Cas handed the book to Michael. Fuck that thing, the little voice inside Cas’ head said as Michael caressed the cover. All this over some book...the voice said, it's nonexistent tone one of disgust.

"You're not real," Cas murmured.

Balthazar frowned at his friend. "Sure I am, and we'll get you safe, Castiel. You're among friends now."

Sure you are, the little voice said. A sharp pain shot through his head. 

"Stop... please." Cas begged the voice aloud.

Fine, the voice said, and the pain disappeared as quickly as it had begun.

“Your nose is bleeding, mate” Balthazar said. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Cas touched a finger to the skin beneath his nose. Sure enough, his fingers were red with his own blood, not the mixture of chicken blood and tomato sauce the Assassins had painted him with to make it seem like they had nearly killed him when they ‘captured’ him. 

“‘M fine.” Cas said, looking over his shoulder at the tearful reunion of mother and daughter. Ellen was crying, clutching Jo and stroking her hair. Jo’s eyes were closed, and her face was buried in her mother’s shoulder. Dean stepped over to them both, placing a hand on Ellen’s neck. She grabbed his head, pulling him in to her embrace as well. Sam was back with the three of them, and he moved forward to stroke Jo and Ellen’s backs. His red eyes stared at the body of his uncle from over the heads of his family. 

Cas had never seen an image of grief as potent as this before in his life, and he felt a pang of jealousy. 

Jealous of their pain Cas? I don’t know why I’m surprised. You are fairly emotionally stunted, and I would know, the little voice said. I’m stuck inside you. 

Shut up, he told it, and heard only silence in response. 

Michael thumbed through the journal, nodding. “This wouldn’t be a trick now, would it?” 

Charlie yelled at the Templar. “Leave these people to mourn, you ignorant canne.”

Kevin nodded, backing her up. “I speak for the Assassins here, as well as those of my homeland when I say that you are not welcome here. You have twenty minutes to collect your dead. After that, any Templar still within the walls of the Villa will be shot on sight.”

Michael dipped his head. “What a strange world I have entered. Thieves and foreigners. You’re all weak.” He turned to Uriel, who had appeared behind Castiel a moment before. “Gather the troops and the horses. We got what we came here for.”

Uriel dipped his head, cracking his knuckles and pulling a horn from his robes. He sounded three quick, high notes, followed by two long, drawn out ones. 

“Borrow that from Gabriel?” Balthazar asked him. “Or does he not know that you nicked it?”

Uriel grinned “He offered it to me, asshole. Let’s get our brother to a horse before he falls over.”

Cas watched the Templars head to the gates, dragging swords and bodies to the gates of the villa, outside which the Order’s horses had been hastily tied up or left to roam on their own. He was led down the street by Uriel and Balthazar, looking over his shoulder at the smoldering remains of the village. He caught Dean’s eye as the Assassin pulled away from his aunt’s embrace. 

I’m sorry, he thought at the Assassin.

Me too, he thought he could read in the Assassin’s gaze. But I forgive you.


	25. Metamorphoses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brotherhood prepares to mourn the fallen. Kevin and his mom discuss their future :)
> 
> I REALIZED I HADNT DONE ONE FROM KEVINS PERSPECTIVE SO HERE YOU GO 
> 
> enjoy friends ahhhahhahhahaha i have a plan now a p l an it S a PLAn and its happening lolololol.

Kevin dropped another bundle of chopped logs on the pyre, arranging the wood around the bodies as Sam had shown him. 

“You guys ever do this before?” Kevin had asked uncomfortably before he, Dean, Sam and a few of the other Assassins had started building up the structure. 

“Once.” Sam said, and Dean had just shaken his head. They were taking Robi’s death hard. And even though Kevin had barely met the man, he could only imagine the impact the death of a Master Assassin could have on a community. He remembered the death of his grandfather, the Master of their own order, and the sadness that could be felt throughout his valley for weeks following his death. He was a crotchety old man who refused to trim his beard, the wild tangle of white like some proud, flag. When he and his sister were younger, they would make a game of tugging on the long white beard, then darting away squealing as he chased after them, cursing and laughing. Everyone in the valley had loved him. 

The same dark curtain of sadness seemed to drape over the heads of everyone at the villa. It had been two days since the battle had ended, and the body count was nowhere near as bad as they had thought. 

Kevin went back for another armful of wood, gathering the last few remaining split logs from the courtyard. The pyre, and the bodies, were arranged in the rear courtyard of Monterrigioni, overlooked by the statuettes of Roman gods and goddesses, arranged evenly throughout the courtyard. The tinder the boys had cut earlier was arranged near a shrine whose statuette looked as if he was arcing upward towards the sun, armed with a drawn bow. 

“Who’s this one?” Kevin called to Dean, trying to change the subject. 

Dean grinned, hefting a canvas-wrapped body over a shoulder. “I still can’t believe you’ve never heard of the pantheon of gods.”

“What, like you ever pray to these guys?” Kevin said, raising an eyebrow. He liked talking with Jo’s cousins. 

“That’s Phoebus Apollo. He’s just Apollo if you ask the Greeks.” Sam called, picking up an axe to split more logs. Sam wedged the log against a post, bringing the axe up over his head and swinging it down, nearly splitting the wood in half. “Never ask the Greeks.”

“I don’t know, man. The Romans weren’t much better,” Dean called. Kevin saw him stiffen before the next canvas-wrapped body: there were two, smaller than they should have been, under three feet long. “Conquering all over the place, meddling in all kinds of things they shouldn’t have.” 

Kevin tossed the wood on the pyre, heading over to help Dean with the small corpses. He had been working with cadavers all his life; medical training meant cutting open a lot of people, some of that he knew. 

Kevin motioned that he would take care of the small bundles, gingerly lifting two of them in his arms. They weren’t heavy--the children of the village had wanted for little. Before now. 

 

Kevin placed the last body on the pyre, surveying the day’s gruesome work. That night, they would hold a mass funeral for the twenty-eight members of the village who had perished in the battle.

They will not get away with this, Kevin thought suddenly. If it’s the last thing I do, they are not getting away with it.

“Think of all the Romans did for us! Plumbing, domes, roads, literature…” Sam said.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, but they killed for sport. Don’t forget that part.”

Kevin cleared his throat, asking, “So what’s the deal with Apollo?” Dean shot him a look.   
“I mean, Phoebus? What’s he the god of?” Kevin asked, setting the bodies down on the pyre.

“He’s a bit of a jack of all trades. Archery, precognition, healing… Am i forgetting anything, Dean?” Sam asked. 

“The most important one, Sam. Poetry.” Dean jogged to a the wall of the villa nearest the courtyard, gripping a few loose bricks and pulling himself up onto the side of the building. He hung onto the wall with one hand, leaning away from the building in a lazy swing so that the only thing connecting the Assassin to the wall were two fingers and one foot. Sam chuckled at the sight. 

“I will recite, in latin, a poem to honor the brightest of gods,” Dean said, bending his swinging body at the waist in a mock bow to the statuette. 

“Dean, you hated latin when we were kids.” Sam called, rolling down his sleeves and setting the axe aside. He had run out of wood to chop.

Dean grinned. “Yeah, but I liked Ovid. Sing in me muse…”

“Even I know that that’s Homer, idiot.” Kevin chuckled. 

“Right. Sorry. The fuckin’ greeks man,” Dean said, clearing his throat before launching into verse. 

Kevin leaned back towards Sam, whispering, “Has he had a bit too much to drink already?”

Sam shrugged.“It’s how he copes with loss. You should have seen him when our father died.”

“In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas corpora; di, coeptis nam vos mutastis et illas adspirate meis primaque ab origine mundi ad mea perpetuum deducite tempora caveman!" Dean recited from memory, hiccuping throughout. 

Sam translated along with Dean’s disjointed latin, correcting him every few words. “My soul is wrought to sing of forms transformed to bodies new and strange.You, gods, since you are the ones who alter these, and all other things, inspire my attempt, and spin out a continuous thread of words, from the world's first origins to my own time. “ And It’s carmen, Dean not caveman.”

Dean grinned, flipping off the side of the wall. “Whatever, man. It’s poetry. Interpret it as you will, amico.”

“It’s a story about change then.” Kevin said as Dean landed beside him. 

“Aren’t they all? Come on, we should go see if your mom and Ellen need help with the food.” Sam said, clapping Kevin on the back.

Kevin followed the brothers into one of the sprawling Villa’s many doors. Normally, the villa would be quiet on a hot Sunday afternoon, the heat driving most of the servants and family members to take refuge in the cool marble halls of the villa. 

Now servants bustled up and down stairs, moving food and equipment around for the evening. 

In the center of the foyer, before the massive marble staircase stood Ellen, with Kevin’s mother standing at her shoulder. Ellen was speaking to the fiery haired thief, Charlie, who had decided to stick around to help with the funereal arrangements. “I ought to pay my respects to the people I was trying to help, right?” She had said when Dean questioned her after the battle. 

“We are going to need more wine, Charlie. Can you take your horse down to old Mica’s farm, just north of the village? Tell her we need at least fifteen crates of whatever she’s got the most of at her winery.” Ellen said. Kevin’s mom’s hand was on her shoulder, a steadying presence. Lin Tran had always been a stoic person, but she was very good at recognizing and caring for pain. She used to tell Kevin it was a trait that she had learned from loving a doctor. 

“Hello, Mother,” Kevin said in their dialect of Chinese, nodding to Ellen. “How is everything going, Ellen?” Kevin said, switching easily back to Italian. 

Ellen smiled, her lined eyes and dark circles betraying her sadness. “I’m fine, mio caro. Grazie. Did you boys finish out there? I thought I heard the beginning of the Metamorphoses. Your mother would be proud,” she said, turning to Dean and Sam. 

“You boys come with me, then. I’ve got another job for you. It’ll give Lin a break from my watery self.” Ellen said, smiling at the Chinese Assassin. Lin dipped her head, responding that she was happy to help in disjointed Italian. 

“I’ll see you guys,” Kevin said with a wave to Charlie, Sam and Dean, and he and his mother made their way up the stairs. 

“I should have thought more about the language barrier before I decided to go on this European journey,” Lin said to Kevin.   
“

“I don’t know if that’s a good enough reason not to travel the world.” Kevin grinned, entering his mother’s room and laying out on the bed. Lin draped herself across a lounge chair by an open window. 

“Ellen and the other Italians seem quite lovely. It’s just such a shame I can’t communicate any better with her, the way she is about her husband.”  
“I’m sure you’re doing fine, Mother. She understands the limits of communication, and she seems very grateful for your support.”

“You think so?” Lin said, tying up her shoulder-lenth hair into a neat bun. 

Kevin held his had up in the air, trying to catch some of the sulight that drifted in through the open window. Dust motes swirled around his fingers as he they played with the light. “Mhm”

After a moment of peaceful silence, Lin said quietly, “We should be leaving soon, Kevin.A few days, I mean.”

Kevin’s fingers stopped moving. “We can’t leave now, Mother. Not so soon after all these people have died. We can’t just leave them, leave Ellen…”

“You mean you can’t leave Jo.” Lin said, her voice measured and even, unreadable. Damn the Assassins and their ability to hide their emotions, Kevin thought angrily. It was a skill he had never quite mastered. 

Kevin sat up, sputtering. “It’s not like--look, just because I kind of, what I’m trying to say is that--” 

“I understand, Kevin. So I’m giving you a choice. You may continue your medical studies, here in Florence, in Italy. I don’t really know why you would. It’s hot and it smells. Everywhere. I feel like I am walking in hell.” 

Kevin chuckled. He didn’t mind the heat. 

“Or you can continue on with me across Europe. I will go as we planned through to London, Barcelona, circle back around for you in a few months.” Lin said, leaning forward and resting her hands on her knees. “It’s necessary that I go there, to recover some...assets”

Kevin raised an eyebrow in suspicion, to which his mother shook her head. “A discussion for another time, my son. But think on what I have said, and I will back whatever decision you make.”

Lin stood, leaving to go to her own room. 

“You may want to discuss this with Jo. I expect she will be acquiring a lot of power soon, and experiencing big changes in her life. She will need all the support she can get.” She said, turning and closing the door behind her, enclosing Kevin in with his thoughts and his questions.


	26. Dust and Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean is asked questions he doesn't want to answer by women who have bigger balls than him.

=====  
25: Dust and Smoke  
=====

 

“You guys are so slow when no one’s actively trying to kill you. Has anyone ever told you that before?” Charlie called from atop her gray horse. She trotted near Sam and Dean, who walked alongside an empty cart pulled by their mounts. With luck, they’d return to the villa loaded with crates of wine for the night. 

“Funnily enough, no.” Sam said with a laugh. 

Dean grinned. “We normally gut the ones who give us lip. Paint the sleepy Italian countryside with their entrails,” he said as he moved his fingers across the image of the road before him as if he were holding a paintbrush.

Charlie contorted her face in a growl, pulling her collar up to hide her face. “Two deadly Assassins out to put an end to wit and word! How shall a good thief like me ever survive?”

“Good thief is an oxymoron, sweetheart.” Dean said as he patted Imp’s twitching side.

Sam could see that the horse was still anxious, even so long after the battle had ended. They had found the horse running circuits around the village wall after the Templars had left, her black eyes wide with fear and rage and her mouth white with foam. Dean had had to spend the night with his half-crazed horse to keep her from kicking her way out of the stables, drifting into a drunken slumber in the stall with his quivering black mare and an empty bottle of wine. 

Sam had often found Dean napping in the stables when they were growing up; their father would always chastise Dean after the sleepy-eyed boy emerged from the stables in the morning, plopping down at the breakfast table with hay in his hair and smelling of horse. Their father never meant his stern words, though. You could tell by his tone of voice.

“Is it now? What does that make me, then?” Charlie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“An exception.” Dean said. 

Sam was glad that Dean and Charlie had been getting on well, which he attributed at least partially to Dean’s constant level of inebriation. 

Then again, Dean had been making a lot of friends in weird places lately. 

He had spent a lot of the last two days in deep thought about the events of the last couple of days: the whirlwind that had been rescuing his brother, the fight in the Mercato, the dread of realizing their home was under attack. His uncle’s death.   
And the Templar, Castiel. Sam had been so sure that Dean was going to beat the life out of that man when he left them alone in that office. Powerful waves of rage, red and hot, had rolled off of Dean at the sight of the Templar like an unchecked forest fire. Sam had not needed to use his eagle sight to see that. 

Then they had emerged like the best of friends, like they weren’t from opposing organizations bound to destroy each other. Built to consume 

But if it wasn’t rage at Castiel, what was it? Sam wondered. And what exactly did they do to my brother in there? 

He knew Dean would never talk about it openly. Shockingly, Dean was not one to talk out his feelings. But maybe if Sam got him even drunker…

“So what’s up with you and that Templar, Dean?” Charlie said, jarring Sam from his plots to exploit his brother in his inebriated state. 

Dean kept his eyes ahead, replying with a measured, “What do you mean?”

“Uh, you’re right.” Charlie said, rolling her eyes at Sam. “Absolutely nothing strange about you, an Assassin, and Castiel, a Templar, planning and pulling off a truce to end that battle. It was kind of romantic, don’t you think Sam?”

Sam paused, flicking his eyes from his brother to Charlie. Dean’s face remained expressionless, though he was beginning to turn a little red. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Charlie, leave him be. Why don’t you go ahead and make sure that the Madonna is ready for us at the vineyard.” Sam said. Charlie groaned and kicked her horse into a trot, growling something about repressed sexualities under her breath. 

“You didn’t have to do that, Sam. I don’t have anything to hide.” Dean mumbled.

“Like hell you don’t.” Sam said with a sharp laugh. “But if I know you as well as I do, and I know you as well as anyone, poking and pulling at you for information is not going to help. It’s a fast way to an early grave.”

Sam stroked Pallas’ mane, and the gelding gazed back at him calmly. He caught his brother’s eye and held his gaze over the backs of their horses.

“Whatever happened to you, Dean, that’s your business. And I’m ready to listen whenever you’re ready to talk.” Sam said. His brother exhaled, his shoulders falling ever so slightly. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Dean laughed nervously. “Since when do we ever know what we’re doing?”

\------------

The pyre had consumed the fallen Assassins and the civilian casualties, to the silence of the watching villagers. Dean didn’t want to think about it anymore, the battle, the deaths, the loss. He was out of the Templar’s incarceration, but he felt like each aspect of his life had been shifted at a forty-five degree angle. Like he was now living in a world turned sideways, while he himself continued existing somewhere between reality and dark matter. 

“Many good men died lie dead before their time, and I had the honor of knowing one personally,” Father Delani said. The old priest had been a good friend to Robi for many years: he made some kind of joke about Robi coming to him for confession and telling him the most watered down versions of his exploits, expecting me to give him penance”. Many of the tearful family members laughed at that. “I told him what I will say today before you all: I know enough about your brotherhood that I understand that everything you do, you do for good reason. You do in the service of justice and freedom.” He blessed the bodies on the pyre then, absolving them of their sin and praying that their souls achieve eternal paradise with the Lord. 

“That’s rich,” Dean whispered to Charlie. 

Charlie gave him a look. “What?”

“Thou shalt not kill, amica.” Dean hiccupped. “I think that’s kind of a big one. And a good amount of the people in that fire made it their life’s work to stop other people’s life work.” 

“No one likes a bitter drunk, Dean.” Charlie said, patting him on the back. “Just relax. It’s almost over.”

============

He took another swig from his flask, swishing the liquor around in his mouth for a moment.The priest’s blessing echoed in Dean’s ears for the rest of the night, and hellfire danced across the backs of his eyelids every time he closed them. 

“Evening, cousin,” Jo said, sliding into the chair beside Dean at the kitchen table. She was dressed in a dark gown, with her hair up in a bun. Pearl drops hung from her ears, catching and refracting the orange light of the braziers. 

"Jo." Dean said, dipping his head. "What brings you to my corner or the universe?"

"I just wanted to see you, I guess. We haven't really had a chance to talk much since...well, forever. May I?" She said, gesturing for Dean's flask. He handed it over.

"We've been a bit busy with the, uh, bloodshed of late. It was getting too quiet around here without me to tear shit up, I guess. The universe heard that I was out, and it just had to pile it all on the minute I'm free. I can't have a minute--" Dean said, his throat closing in him in what he would deny was a sob. "A minute of peace."

"I know, fratello," Jo said "far be it from me to lecture you on the fairness of the world."

Dean's voice softened. "I am so sorry, Jo. If I had been quicker, maybe I could save him." 

"Robi's death is no more your fault than God's, Dean." 

"And don't even get me started on God," Dean said. "I've got a beef with that guy."

"You've got a beef with everyone, Dean." Jo said, passing his flask back.

"Not true. I don't have a beef with you." 

Jo smiled. "For now."

The two were quiet for a minute. 

"Have you--" Dean started before Jo cut him off.

"Robi wanted me to be his successor." Jo said, staring at a knot in the wood of the table as if she could will it away with her focus. 

"What? Of the brotherhood-- of Italia?" Dean said, surprise dispelling some of his drunken haze. 

Jo nodded, taking another gulp from Dean’s flask. 

"I know, I know that I haven't been a full member of the brotherhood for more than, like, you know, a bit.” Jo said, avoiding eye contact. “I told him, that’s crazy! I’m so young, and I’ve not got much experience, and how are these men ever going to respect a woman as their leader? These Assassins who have killed hundreds more than I?”

“They’ll respect you.”

“How do you know that, Dean?” Jo asked, turning her head. Her eyes were glazed, unseeing. 

Dean set his jaw. “Because they already do, you idiot.”

“What do you mean,” Jo asked. “I haven’t told anyone--”

“It’s because of what you did out there, Jo. The way that you took control of the village, made sure that that fight ended when it did, that wasn’t something any other Assassin could have done. Sam and I, we couldn’t have done that. Not with Robi…”

He ground his teeth together for half a second, then stopped. Ellen used to tell him that if he did that too often, he would have to eat only boiled vegetables in his old age.

Dean’s voice quavered as he continued. “Not with Robi dead, barely twenty feet away. But you stopped it Jo. The massacre. Everyone saw it, not just those Templar bastards. They’re terrified, running away with their tails between their legs.”

“They did look kinda scared, didn’t they?” Jo said softly.

He grinned. “They have no idea what to do with you. But us, everyone here, we saw how you acted. Like a leader, Jo. And Assassins never forget.”

Jo’s eyes softened, and a corner of her mouth pulled up. “Thank you, Dean. But there is still the matter of my womanhood.”

“Ellen’s a lady. Everyone respects her.”

“Because she was the wife of a Master Assassin, not because she was one.”

Dean dipped his head in acknowledgement before continuing. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but Robi knew what he was doing. I trust his judgement, and I trust you.”

Jo nodded thoughtfully. 

“When are you going to tell everyone else?”

Jo turned, surveying the kitchen around them. Assassins and villagers stood amongst each other, heads drooping on shoulders, tears in their eyes and laughter echoing throughout the room. Garth stood in one corner, a few of the ladies of the Rosa Colta surrounding him. They wore black for the occasion, women that Dean had seen before. They had ties with the Assassins and were some of the more perceptive ears and eyes of the city. Sam and Kevin had left to take a walk around the grounds of the villa, practically dragging Charlie away from a young dark-haired prostitute. Even some of the nobility of Firenze had made the trek to Monterrigioni, and stood together nervously against the room of thieves and killers. Robi had had many friends, across social and political boundaries. 

“I was planning on waiting a day or two. Mingling a bit tonight, getting on good terms with all of Robi’s old friends. I need to keep every contact that he had, and it wouldn’t hurt to make new ones,” She said, narrowing her eyes at Dean. “Speaking of which…”

Dean held up a hand. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jo. I haven’t had time to breathe, to just relax, in a while.”

“I get it.” Jo said, pushing her chair back and standing up. “Take the time you need. God knows you’ve been through a lot. We all have. But let me make this clear: if you are planning on maintaining contact with the Templar Castiel, I need you reporting to me.”

Dean shook his head, groaning “Jo…”

“I know. But just…he learned things from you, Dean. Michael said so. That bit about “the information from a well-trained soldier”? The Templar--”

“His name’s Cas, okay?” Dean interrupted, scratching his jaw. “Stop talking about him like he’s not a person.”

Jo sighed. “Fine. Cas,” she said, enunciating the consonants, “Cas was reporting to him, everything you told him, and some things that you probably didn’t even know you were telling him.”

“You think that’s escaped my notice?” 

“I think turnabout’s fair play. Just think about it,” Jo said, wandering away towards the noblemen. “Maybe it’ll make more sense when you’re sober.” 

“Not likely,” Dean mumbled under his breath.


	27. May It Never Change Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and the Templars discuss the fallout of the Raid on Monterrigioni

“What are you talking about? That was an obvious victory!” Gabriel said, slamming a fist down on his desk. Michael and Uriel lounged across from Castiel and Balthazar’s shared couch. The near-full moon was visible outside the single window in Gabriel’s attic of the Santa Carlotta. 

Castiel fought to control his rising bile. They had been discussing the raid on the Assassin’s village for over an hour, and between the alcoholic tendencies of Castiel, Gabriel, and Balthazar, Cas didn’t think that Gabriel’s liquor stock would survive the night. He let the others belabor the battles of late; he did not care for the arguments of wins and losses. Castiel found them irrelevant. 

“It wasn’t like that, Gabriel. You weren’t there.” Balthazar said, looking to Cas for support. Before he could respond, their superior spoke up.

“A retreat isn’t a defeat, brother. We got what we went there for, the name of the sage.” Gabriel murmured, leaning back in his desk chair. He pushed the chair back, tipping dangerously far on it’s rear two legs. 

Uriel cocked his head. “And you’d know enough about defeat. Right, Gabriel? You couldn’t even organize a few police to clear out some paupers. A complete waste of blood.”

“Not our blood though. Mostly Guarda blood.” Gabriel said.

“Mostly,” Balthazar pointed out.

He’s got a point, Castiel. The little voice that had been swimming through Cas’ consciousness ever since the raid a few days ago was acting up again. 

Go away, he begged it. Leave me in some peace. 

You’re no fun, the voice said. Even when you’re drunk. No one likes a bitter drunk, Cas. 

No, I’m not fun. Leave. Stay gone.

His mind went quiet. Commanding it to go away seemed to work, but never for very long. At best, Cas would get an hour or two of sleep before waking to what felt like someone else’s thoughts rampaging through his own head. 

Cas was about to open his mouth to try and settle the debate between the commanders when they heard a violent barrage of knocks on the door, followed by a squeak of alarm from the apprentice guarding the door. It flew open with a loud bang before any of the Templars could move from their seats, and Crowli strode in. His black cape swept across the floor, scattering the scraps of parchment and dust through the room.

“Evening, Lads.”

Michael dipped his head. “Captain Crowli.”

“You boys didn’t tell me there would be a party. Kind of rude, you know. Not to invite me.” Crowli said, stepping around the Templars and grabbing a bottle of red wine and pouring himself a glass. “I take it you boys are discussing our defeat.”

Gabriel closed his eyes, sighing. “It wasn’t a--”

“Spare me.” Pulling a puffed ottoman out from beneath the table between the two couches, Crowli sat down directly across from Gabriel’s desk. Cas pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, fighting back a headache. Stay gone, he begged. Not now.

Crowli swirled the wine in his glass idly. “What I want to know is what we did wrong. I was there, in the Mercato. We were doing well, had those rats on the run. Can you just imagine how much nicer the Mercato Vecchio would have looked without all that rag and bone? My approval rating would have been through the roof.”

Uriel sighed. “We have more pressing issues than your approval rating to deal with right now, Crowli.”

“Ah, your pitiful crusade. Some silly little notebook, yes? Very important, that. Such a shame so many had to die so you could get your mitts on some musty old birth records.”

“Enough.” Michael said, quieting his commanders with a raised hand. “Crowli, say what you came here to say.” 

Crowli cleared his throat, and Castiel could tell that a story was coming. 

“Fine. So, I’m with my boys, clearing out the market when we starts to see these...thieves, bottom-feeders, what have you--they start rising out of the woodwork, attacking us from the roofs. So I see my men start to go down, and I say to myself,” Crowli closed one eye and cocked his head comically. ”’Self, how on earth do armed thugs know that you were planning on clearing out the market?’ I thought, ‘Self, maybe those Templars let it slip. Or maybe something worse.’” 

Every Templar in the room stiffened at the accusation, save for Michael and Castiel. 

Balthazar sat up in his seat, ”Are you implying that we plotted to have some of our men, and yours, killed by mercenaries? This is unbelievable,” He added, shaking his head at Castiel. Cas just blinked. He was having a hard time defining unbelievable these days. 

Crowli held up his hands “Calm down, now, English. It was simply my first thought. So to myself i say, ’Self, we need to find out for sure, now, don’t we?’ And so I grab a thief, he was still a boy, really, and we go have a chat in one of the empty alleys. Away from some of the fighting. I think to myself, ‘Self, that Gabriel and your boys can handle this. You need to focus on finding that mole.’”

Castiel spoke up for the first time that evening. “What did you find?”

Crowli’s eyes fixed on him, narrowing. “Took me a while, but he squealed. A ginger girl and an Assassin, the lad said he was taller than a moose he saw once in the north of Scandinavia. I said, ‘A moose? What the hell’s a moose?’’

“I’ve never heard of one before.” Gabriel said thoughtfully. “I’ll have an apprentice do some research.”

“Right. Anyways, so the Assassin and the ginger thief are asking around, poking in places they shouldn’t be. They made up an army to stop our progress in the Mercato, protect the rats from us. So I thanked him for the information and I took off his head.”

Castiel closed his eyes. Another meaningless death.

“Then, imagine my surprise as I go back to the market and find nearly every guard I brought with me lying in their own viscera,” Crowli’s voice had escalated, he was close to yelling now. “In the middle of the bloody square! No sign of Gabe here, he and his forces have fucked off. So someone tell me, please, what bloody happened when I was gone for ten minutes!” Crowli shouted, breathing heavily. 

Michael turned his head to look at their host. They shared a look, and Gabriel sighed.

“We were attacked. By those thieves you were interrogating, and two Assassins. One of them was Dean Vincense.”

Castiel stopped breathing at the mention of Dean’s name. Oh no, he thought.

“Vincense. Your captive, the very same Vincense that I had in my custody, that Dean Vincense?” Crowli asked, eyes wide.

Balthazar scratched his chin. “Which doesn’t make any sense, since Castiel was our authority on him.” Balthazar glanced again at his friend, and Cas nodded after a moment. “He couldn’t walk without aid. How the hell did he manage to break out of here, storm the Mercato, and make it to Monterrigioni to fight us? He’s a cripple, for God’s sake.”

“Well, that cripple was fighting like a demon, and so was the other Assassin. Don’t even get me started on the thief-girl they were with. I’ve never seen anyone wield a weird stick with such skill.” Gabriel said. 

“You’re right, Balthazar, Crowli. It doesn’t make any sense.” Michael spoke up, silencing Gabriel. “This Dean Vincense, he and his friends have been ahead of us at every move we make. We didn’t even know that they were a threat, and look how they have thwarted us.”

Castiel cleared his throat, saying “The day was not a complete loss, Michael. We walked away with the name of a sage. That was a success.”

Michael examined Cas with unblinking eyes. “Perhaps,” he said. “But the matter remains that many Templars have died, and even more Guarda, at the hands of foolish planning.” Crowli nodded at that. “We will not make the mistake of underestimating the Assassins again.”

“What do you suggest, brother?” Uriel asked their leader. 

“I suggest,” Michael said after a sip from his goblet, the red wine staining his lips. “I suggest that we stop thinking like military commanders and start thinking like Assassins.” 

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Work in the dark, right? That is part of their foolish credo, isn’t it?” Michael said. 

A wide smile spread across Uriel’s face, the white of his teeth in stark contrast against his dark skin.

“You’re suggesting we spy on them?” Castiel said, unable to hide the shock in his voice.

Michael shook his head. “No, Castiel. I’m suggesting you spy on them.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Gabriel, Uriel, and Crowli all began talking over each other, saying how that would be a bad idea, that Castiel would be much more valuable as a captain of the Templar Order than as a spy. All throughout the clamor, Michael never broke eye contact with Castiel, staring him down with a pleasant smile. After a moment, one of his leader’s eyebrows rose. 

He knew. Michael knew that Dean and Cas had been working together, and that Cas had helped Dean escape. That he had betrayed the Order. The Templar Leader didn’t exactly know how, Cas was sure of that. But he knew enough. 

Cas would need to tread carefully here.

“My skills are more suited to the battlefield, Michael. I was never one for stealth and covert operations.” Cas said.

Michael sighed. “You will do this.” An unspoken threat hung in the air between them, unspoken but not unheard. Castiel nodded, accepting the new task. 

“And I want weekly reports. You will bring your findings to Gabriel. Castiel, let me stress the importance of the integrity of this mission.”

“Babysitting a few Assassins?” Balthazar said incredulously. “That seems a bit…”

Michael turned to the English Templar. “Balthazar, you are being promoted. You now command Castiel’s legion of our brothers and sisters.” 

Balthazar shook his head, murmuring about what the world was coming to.

“Well, this has all been very exciting, truly. You have no idea how the politics of heretics delight me,” Crowli said, standing to leave. “But I’m afraid I have a police force to rebuild. I’m even worse off than I was before, as most of my men are dead.”

Gabriel grinned. “Bummer.”

Crowli gave him a withering glance, smiling. “Isn’t it?” He swept out of the room, not waiting for the farewells of any of the Templars. 

“It seems as though that was my cue,“ Uriel said, standing to leave with a sigh. “That idiot is going to make a fool of this Order, Michael. I can feel it.”

“He will have his uses.” Michael said. Cas felt a shiver run down his back. How many of the other men that Michael deemed useful had ended up worse for wear?

Balthazar and Castiel stood up to follow Uriel out. Michael remained on the couch, waiting patiently for their inferiors to leave. “Thank you for the wine, Gabriel.” Balthazar called over his shoulder, ushering Cas out ahead of him. 

The three Templars made their way down the rickety wooden staircase that led to Gabriel’s attic. “Good night, boys.’ Uriel said. “And good luck with that new assignment of yours, Castiel. I look forward to hearing your discoveries.”

Cas nodded, acknowledging the veiled threat as Uriel left them. Balthazar let out a breath, and his shoulders fell forward. 

“They were all in good moods, right?” Balthazar said, his eyes following Uriel’s form down a hallway of the Santa Carlotta. 

Cas nodded, a corner of his mouth pulling up. “I was having a hard time containing my own joy. Could you tell?” Stress left his body as the threat of being in a room with Michael disappeared. 

Balthazar grinned, clapping Cas on the back as they made their way through the courtyard of the Santa Carlotta. “I’m sure you’re just tired, fratello. You’ve hardly had rest since the raid, I know. It’s kind of hard to hide that information from someone who lives with you.”

Cas frowned. He didn’t want Balthazar worrying about him, and his lack of sleep. That would lead to questions, questions that he couldn’t answer. Not yet, at least. “I suppose it’s just nerves.”

“It’s always nerves with you, Castiel. You’re so tightly wound. It’s why we get along, mate. Opposites attract and all that.”

“You’re drunk.” 

Balthazar chuckled. “You’re not wrong.”

The two Templars made their way through the sleeping city, finally finding the tenement building they had been living together in since they had graduated from apprenticeship. All Templar apprentices bunked in the headquarters, and that was where Balthazar and Castiel had met. 

The men stumbled through the door of the ground floor of their apartment, one of the bottom-level bars that seemed to make up the foundation of evening commerce in Firenze. Balthazar spied a group of dancing gypsies in one corner of the bar, and slipped away from Castiel’s grip to join them. The blonde englishman flew in and out of the circle of giggling women, stamping his feet to the beat of their bells and drums. Balthazar gestured for him to join him, but Cas shook his head. The charms of the beautiful women had no effect on Castiel tonight; scenes of his conversation with Michael chased each other around in his head, keeping any thoughts of anything besides fear far from his mind. 

Cas was received at the bar with a “Salute, Castiel,” from the barmaid. Carmilla was also the owner of the building. A sweet, middle aged woman, she had always been kind to the two Templars.

“Buonasera, Carmilla,” Castiel replied to his landlady, sitting down on one of the wooden stools. 

“I’ve got some of that spiced cider you always like, dear.”

“God bless you,” Cas said with a grin. “I could use it.”  
Carmilla poured the cider into a laqcuered mug, leaving Cas with the cider and a sweet biscuit. “It’s on the house,” she called over her shoulder as she left to greet new customers. 

Cas dunked the biscuit in the cider, his headache returning. Michael wants me to spy on the Assassins, he thought incredulously. He knows that I betrayed the order, so why would he want me any closer to our enemies? 

Who knows, Cas heard inside his head. The minds of you humans are so convoluted. 

“Not you again,” Cas mumbled aloud. “If you’re not human, then what are you?”

I...I do not remember. 

“You’re lying.”

It’s difficult. I am having trouble extricating what is mine and what is yours. But I get flashes. It is harder when you constantly silence me at every opportunity

“Oh, I’m sorry if this is inconvenient for you,” Cas murmured, sarcasm twisting his words. “I’ve got enough to deal with without losing my mind on top of it all.”

You’re not losing it. You’re just sharing it, for a while. 

“For how long?”

The voice was quiet, but Cas could feel it’s presence lingering on the edge of his consciousness. 

You’re the one who started this. That’s what woke me up. You had to go and heal that bird, and your boyfriend.

“He is not my boyfriend!” Cas said loudly, banging his fist on the table. The people around him looked up, raising eyebrows and hushing conversations. Cas cursed to himself, giving an awkward wave to the other customers before they returned to their loud drinking. 

No, but you wish that he was. You can try to keep secrets from them all Castiel, your friends, your comrades. You can even try to keep it from yourself. 

But I see everything that you are, the voice said. Castiel squirmed in his seat. I know things about you that even you do not know yet. You can push me away and shut me up, but know this…

“Fuck off,” Castiel interrupted the voice. The voice faded from his awareness, but it was right. Cas could still feel it there, lingering deep within his consciousness. A strong, foreign entity. 

Cas wondered as it disappeared, How long has that been there? 

“Ready to hit the sack, amico?” Cas heard. Balthazar had appeared over his shoulder, and had finished off the remaining half of Carmilla’s biscuit. 

“That was mine,” Castiel moaned. “I was going to eat that.”

“Why were you just staring at it then? Looked like you were having a fucking intellectual debate with it, Cas.” Balthazar said with a grin. 

Cas sighed. “You know, you don’t have to be such an ass all the time. Some people find it refreshing to take breaks, you know, behave decently for a change.”

“Indeed, but where’s the fun in that?” Balthazar laughed. 

Sliding off of the stool, Cas waved to Carmilla before heading up the stairs to their apartment, Balthazar following behind him. The Templar unlocked the door, entering the messy one-room apartment. Small weapons, armor, and dirty dishware covered nearly every flat surface in the room, some of it Castiel’s but most of it Balthazar’s. The men had given up on general upkeep long ago.

“Home sweet...what is that?” Balthazar mumbled, stumbling towards his bed. “Do you smell that?”

“No, and I don’t want to.” Cas mumbled, shrugging off his tan, sleeveless robe. He hung it over a chair in the section of their room that functioned as “the kitchen”.

“Wait...before you go to bed, we must have a toast!” Balthazar said with excitement. “To your new assignment, right? A private investigation! Darkness, debauchery, beatiful damsels waiting to be rescued behind every corner.” The englishman dug through a crate at the end of his bed for a wine bottle.

“The last thing we need right now is more alcohol,” Cas sighed, but he smiled. Balthazar had always supported him, even if he didn’t fully understand what was going on.

Pulling a dark-colored bottle from the crate, Balthazar said “Too bad. we’re celebrating.”

Cas grabbed two clean mugs with the same blue-and-green pattern as the bar below them (all their dishware came from Carmilla), and balthazar poiured the remaining wine out, looking forlornly at the empty bottle.   
“Alright. I’ll say some words,” Balthazar said, hiccupping. Cas chuckled.

“To my brother, Castiel, and his new mission given from God on high. I mean our leader Michael, of course. How silly of me to mix them up.” Balthazar ducked, avoiding a swipe Cas made at his head. He was used to Cas swiping at his head whenever he made a nasty remark, and had long since perfected the perfect duck to avoid the *thunk* against the back of his head. 

“I wasn’t finished! Jesus, mate. Alright,” he said, steadying himself. 

“It is a good life we lead, brother.” Castiel said with a laugh, stress fleeing from his body with the promise of sleep.

“May it never change. And may it never change us.” 

The men drank simultaneously, then fell into their beds on respective sides of the room. The last thing Castiel saw before his eyes closed was the book on the side of his bed, the romance novel he had given to Dean.

It already has, the voice murmured.

Fuck. Off. Cas thought. It did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Balthazar as roommates is like my favorite thing dont look at me i m crying


	28. Guns, Wills, and Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo, Sam, Dan and Kevin go through Robi's will; Jo gives Sam a secret mission
> 
> ITS JUST LIKE REAL LIFE EVERYONE's keePING SECrETS HAHA

"No trading, you little shits. Imagine if your uncle saw you exchanging what he hand picked for you in his will! He would roll over in his nonexistent grave." Ellen called over her shoulder as she left Jo, Kevin, Dean and Sam alone in Robi's--Jo's-- office. On the desk before them, still littered with rolls of parchment and empty wine bottles, was Robi's last will and testament. The short document was signed at the bottom in Robi's familiar, swooping cursive. 

"That's horrible, mother. Not untrue, though" Jo sighed.

"What if I get a book or something?" Dean called after her. "He'd do that, just because he knows I'd have to read it, because he wanted me to. And he'd know I hate it. The old bastard'd do it to spite me. Then can I trade with Sam? Sam likes books."

"And other things too." Sam protested. His older brother was already pushing all of his buttons, and he had only been out of incarceration for a few days. Sam rubbed one eye, wondering again about the welfare of his brother. He seemed fine on the surface, projecting his usual carefree-alcoholic attitude. But Sam was no fool.

"Like what?" Dean asked with a smile.

Kevin sighed. "Are you two really going to do this now?"

"Mom's right. No trading," Jo said, sitting down at the massive desk. It was strange, seeing her in a spot so often occupied by his uncle. The desk made her look smaller than she was, while somehow still managing to project an air of authority.

Jo had told him the night before, after the ceremony and before Charlie had decided she had overstayed her welcome, leaving the party with a quiet “Arrivederci, bitches”. Jo had told him that Robi wanted her as his heir as leader of the brotherhood. Sam had congratulated Jo, drank to her successes the night before. He was happy for her, truly, and he believed she would make a suitable leader for the brotherhood. 

But a tiny part of him couldn't shake the nagging, dark question squirming around in his mind: why not me? Or even Dean? The two of them both had more experience in the brotherhood than Jo. More people know of the exploits of the “Notorious Vincense Brothers” than was probably healthy for an organization of Assassins. So why not me? He wondered a bit bitterly.

He didn't envy Jo her burden now, as he saw her nearly swallowed up by the sheer amount of tasks laid out for the new leader of the Italian brotherhood. Perhaps Robi had known what he was doing. 

"Okay, here we go." Jo mumbled under her breath, skimming through legal jargon and meaningless jabber. "’I leave the full and total control of the Italian Brotherhood of Italia to my adopted daughter and heir, Johanna.’"

Dean nodded, adding "Whom we fully support."

Jo smiled at him before returning to the will. "Already trying to get on my good side, cousin?"

"New management. Gotta start now, right?"

"Okay, here we go. 'To my nephew, Sam Vincense," Jo's voice grew soft as she read on, her face a mask of awe. "I leave him my sword, in the hopes that it will inspire the knightly valor I know him to already possess, and I pray that it will aid and protect him and his family as it has served me and mine."

"You're serious?" Sam said after a moment of silence. 

Jo nodded, pulling a cloth wrapped object from behind her desk, holding it out to Sam hesitantly. 

Sam started forward, tentatively grabbing the linen-covered sword. He pulled the wrapping from the blade gently, revealing a sword that legends and songs could never do justice.

The long blade looked like a hybridized rapier, just as long and ornamental but with a slightly thicker blade than was deemed appropriate for a sword meant to be purely decorative. The long, bright blade terminated at a silver-mottled crossguard, a thin bar that shone and reflected light like Ellen's mother-of-pearl earrings. The bar of asymmetrical mottled silver was finished on each end with a dark gray pearl. A knuckle-guard arced between the pommel and the crossguard, an arch of the same pure, shining silver that the blade was made of. Etched into the arch were tiny organic curls and loops, swirling around stylized beasts and magical creatures. 

Sam had seen Robi wield the blade in battle before, a bright silver flash heralding death to his enemies. 

"Named for its French craftsmanship and the sea shore it was found washed up on. A complete mystery, deadly in its beauty." Jo said. 

"La Mer," Sam and Dean breathed at the same time. 

Kevin stepped over to Sam, eyeing the bright blade with poorly hidden excitement. "It's beautiful."

"That sword's taken more lives than everyone in this room combined," Dean said with a chuckle. "So don't go making eyes at that blade, Kevin. She's a dangerous mistress."

"Yeah. I'm into that lately." Kevin said, casting a longing glance at Jo. To Sam's surprise, his cousin blushed, even if only slightly.

Dean groaned. "Are you guys really gonna do this now?" He quoted, punching Kevin in the arm.

Sam tests the eight of the sword in his hand, the measured blade fitting comfortably in the palm of his hand. "I'm not trading this for any book, fratello." Sam said with a chuckle.

Dean grinned. "I don't blame you, Sammy. I do not blame you." He said, eyeing the sword with poorly hidden envy.

"Dean, there's a new toy for you too. Don't get your breeches in a bunch" Jo said. Dean opened his mouth to reply, but she shushed him, motioning for Kevin to bring over a sealed wooden box on one of the myriad bookshelves.

"'And to my nipote Dean, who is undoubtedly jealous of his brother's new pigsticker just about now, I give him an innovation of the great inventor and friend of the Brotherhood, Leonardo da Vinci."

"Come again?" Dean said, blinking in surprise. "Robi left me a weapon of...da Vinci?" 

"It's a small firearm," Kevin said. "We've had them for years in the east. I was wondering when you guys would start catching up."

He popped open the box, revealing an intricate looking bundle of straps and gears-a leather and iron mechanism meant to attach to a wrist blade.

Dean stared open-mouthed at the contraption. “Well, how does it work?” 

“It’s sort of like a hidden crossbow, but instead of bolts, it fires little balls of lead, called bullets, at deadly speeds. We can try it out in the courtyard, set up some dummies.” Kevin said.

Sam spoke up. “Have you ever used one of these before, Kevin?”

“Not as small as this, but something like it, yes.” the Chinese Assassin said with a nod. 

“No trading, bitch.” Dean said loudly, a smile spreading across his face. “This might be even cooler than your sword, Sam.”

“You might be right,” Sam conceded. “But mine’s prettier. Bigger, too.”

Dean lifted an eyebrow. “Compensating for something, fratello?”

Sam punched his brother in the shoulder, laughing off the insult. The only thing Dean liked more than a new weapon was probably a dick joke. 

“Enough, you noisy puppies. Kevin, go teach Dean not to kill himself with that thing, okay?”Jo said, visibly fighting back a laugh. “I’m going to have a chat with Sam.”

Kevin nodded, planting a soft kiss on Jo’s forehead before leading a retching Dean from the room. 

“Should he be handling explosives?” Jo asked, her eyes following the two Assassins out of the room. 

“Definitely not.” Sam said with a chuckle. 

Jo nodded. “Good. We need a little explosivity sometimes.”

Sam dipped his head in acknowledgement.

“I want to talk to you about Dean, Sam.” 

He sighed. “Naturally,” Sam said, lowering himself into a plush armchair across from Jo’s desk. “I am my brother’s keeper, after all.”

Jo narrowed her eyes. “Don’t say that, Sam. Bitterness doesn’t suit you.”

Sam bristled at the admonition, staring his cousin down with eyes suddenly wide.“You think that, just because you’re the leader of the Assassins now, you get to do that, Jo? That you can just tell me what to do with my life? Like you were...like you’re Robi, just because you sit where he did? Because you…” Sam was stopped by the sobs that wracked his chest, warm tears he didn’t know he had been holding back burning his eyes. He buried his head in his hands “Because you read from a list and can shuffle papers? That’s not how it’s supposed to be--”

Jo’s strong arms wrapped around Sam’s head, pulling it to her shoulder. Even with the massive Assassin sitting down, Jo barely reached his head with her own. Sam sobbed into the space where her collarbone met her neck. The pair stayed in their embrace for a minute, Jo stroking Sam’s hair softly and murmuring words of comfort to the Assassin. 

“I know this is hard for you, cousin, but imagine what this is to me, for a moment. You may have been prepared for this role, but I hardly was. You think I have any idea how to run an organization this large? I have so much to learn…” Jo said, her voice trailing off. “But I’m going to do what my stepfather--what the man who was a father to us both would have wanted me to do. I am going to honor his last wishes, because I know that I am strong enough.”

“I need you to be strong, Sam. Mourn, have a good cry, do whatever you need to do, but I need you behind me.” Jo said, releasing him. She kept a hand on his shoulder as he sniffled like a child, angrily brushing a hand across his damp eyes. Jo looked down on him with compassion and iron coloring her eyes equally. “The time for childish things is past, brother.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “Alright.”

Jo moved back to lean against the desk, brows furrowed. “Dean wants to go back to Florence.”

“Already?” Sam said, surprise and suspicion coloring his voice. “The guy has barely even been free for a week. Shouldn’t he be taking it easy?” Dean shouldn’t want to go back to Firenze, the city he had been held captive in for weeks. Sam furrowed his brow. It just didn’t make any sense. 

“That’s exactly what I told him. But he said he wants to get back out in the field, take care of some private jobs if he can. He thinks doing the job will help him get back to normal, you know? He’s hiding it, but I think he’s taking all of this kind of hard. If you just broke down because I raised my voice, imagine what he must be going through. He’s been tortured. ”

“I know, and I’m getting sick of imagining what others are going through,” Sam said. “I’m going to talk to him about it, and then I won’t have to imagine it anymore.”

“Wait. Don’t just yet.”

Sam bit his tongue, still straining against the urge to object to Jo’s leadership, especially when it came to his brother. “Why should I?”

Jo grinned. “I want you to follow him, figure out what he’s really doing in the city. I have a hunch, but I want to be sure.”

“You mind sharing that hunch with me?” Sam asked.

“I don’t think I will. I want to see if it’s true or not first. I fear that it is, and I fear even more if I am wrong.”

Sam accepted that with a terse nod. All the best Assassins had secrets, the Masters most of all. Jo was learning very quickly. 

“He’ll leave tonight while you’re asleep, hoping that you won’t follow. He might even leave you a note saying that he wants you out of his business for a while.” Jo said. 

“You are not to do this. Leave two hours after him, and keep track of him while he’s in Firenze. Take care not to let Dean see you. That man’s got some new secrets, Sam. Be careful what you poke at. You are to report to me by messenger pigeon. You’re familiar with the pigeon coops we manage across the city.”

Sam nodded. “Of course. But why are you telling me to do this, Jo? Why not send someone more objective, someone who’s not so close to the target?” Sam said, referring to his brother as the target of his new mission.

“Two reasons,” Joe said, holding up two fingers as she ticked them off. “One, is you would do it anyway as soon as you found out he left your sorry ass at home for an adventure.” Sam raised an eyebrow, but didn’t disagree. “And secondly, I want you watching him because who would better take care of my cousin than his brother? If I could go myself, Sam, I would. Believe me,” Jo said with a sigh. Sam realized suddenly just how restrictive Jo’s new job was: who knew when (or if) the girl would get to run a normal mission again? “I would.”

Sam raised a hand in acceptance. “Alright, alright. I’m sold.”

“Good.” Jo said. “Now go make sure those idiots don’t kill each other. God knows we’ve lost too many good men recently.”

Sam nodded, turning to leave. “I’m sorry Jo. I just lost it a bit, a few minutes ago. I do support you, you know that.” He looked into her eyes, noting the purple hollows beneath her eyes. Even with Kevin and Ellen’s support, this job was beginning to exhaust her. 

Jo sighed. “I know you want to do the right thing, Sam. And sometimes the decision that I make and the right thing might not be the same.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies.” Jo said. “Now go. Try out your new sword. Enjoy the afternoon sun with your brother,” she said, casting a longing glance at the sword now hanging from Sam’s hip. 

If things had been different, Sam thought as he left the dark office for the afternoon sun of the courtyard, It could be you with this beautiful sword, and me trapped behind that desk. Who knows where we’d be better off, where we’d be happier?

Sam, Dean, and Kevin spent the next hour practicing with the new weapons Robi had given them, the sound of his brother’s laughter and the simplicity of a beautiful summer afternoon melting Sam’s worries away, for the time being at least. Dean even let him fire the firearm once, removing his new wristblade and tossing the whole thing to Sam carelessly. Kevin gasped, sighing in relief as the Assassin caught it effortlessly. 

“If you drop that, it could go off. You guys know that, right?” Kevin said nervously, playing with the weight of La Mer. The sword seemed a bit too heavy 

Sam grinned. “Careful Dean, you could kill somebody.” 

“Wouldn’t want that to happen, would we? It’d be tragic, truly tragic.” Dean shook his head, laughing. 

“You guys are assholes,” Kevin called as sam lined up his shot with the target dummy across the courtyard, some thirty yards away. He aimed for the chest, pulling the pin back and arming the miniature gun. He focused the sight of the wrist-gun, taking a deep breath before flicking his forearm, sending the bullet shooting out of his hand like the projectile was an extension of his limb. 

It released with a loud crack and a puff of smoke, which Sam waved away with a hand. 

“Not bad!” Dean called after the two had jogged to the target dummy. A decent sized hole gaped in the side of the hay-filled mannequin, a red macabre smile stitched across its sackcloth face. 

“Barely lethal, though.” Sam said. Dean clapped him on the back. 

“Don’t beat yourself up, Sammy. You’ll get the hang of it.” Dean grinned, no shadow in his eyes or twinge in his smile to betray his plan to leave the villa, and his brother, tonight. God, you are good, Sam thought, as the two men raced back to where Kevin practiced with Sam’s new sword. I could never lie to your face like that. Not that well, at least, he thought. 

Joke’s on you, though, Sam thought, lowering his head and striding ahead of his brother easily. I’m not letting you get away from me again. This time, I’m watching over you, asshole.

“I win,” Sam said, panting. “Jerk”

“Bitch. And don’t you always? Oh wait, were we racing? I thought that was just a jog,” Dean said, bending at the waist and resting his forearms on his knees to catch his breath. 

You’re not getting away from me this time, Dean. I’m one step ahead, Sam thought, as the sun sank lower in the sky and the night drew closer.  
\-------------

Later that night, Sam heard the barely detectable shifting of fabric on stone, felt his window open. He kept his eyes closed, breath even, hearing the soft sound of what could only be Dean setting a note on the pillow beside him. 

‘Addio, fratello,” Dean whispered. “Do not follow me.” He said more firmly, and Sam felt the air currents shift as Dean abandoned his windowsill, leaving the window slightly ajar, as it had been when Sam fell asleep.

As if, Sam thought. 

He waited. One hour, two hours. The time moved slowly, only measurable by the shifting of the moon in the starry sky, hanging suspended just outside Sam’s window. 

When two hours had passed, he picked up the letter, reading it quickly. It was short.

I’ve gone to Firenze to sort some things out. Maybe if I get some work done, it’ll clear my mind a bit, Dean’s blocky handwriting said. 

Bullshit, Sam thought. “Why are you really leaving?” He wondered aloud. 

As he saddled up his calm, sleepy horse, the final words of Dean’s letter echoed through his head as if his brother had shouted them until his throat was raw, not written them calmly on a page of parchment. 

Sammy, Let Me Go. Pallas’ hooves thundered against the red dirt as they flew out of the city, knocking the words further and further into his head. Let Me Go, Let Me Go.

“No chance, asshole,” Sam murmured, tangling his fingers in his horse’s mane. “No fucking chance.”


	29. A Thief, a Templar, and an Assassin Walk Into A Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's it the title explains it all. 
> 
> There is ANGST and a bit of FLUFF i THINK it's CUTE lol im dead writing fluff is so much worse than reading it help me please im crying

Charlie fidgeted with the tight tie on her apron, sighing dramatically as she passed the barmaid's uniform to another thief, signaling the end of her shift at the Riverboat for the night. Charlie believed that it never hurt to have as many and as varied sources as she could, in her line of work, and drunk men's tongues tend to wag more to a servant girl than a sober man's at knifepoint. 

Both effective means of information gathering, she had no doubt of that. But working undercover did have its perks, Charlie thought, catching the eye of a busty, dark haired woman at a corner table. A beautiful cascade of dark green fabric pooled around her shoulders, revealing perhaps a bit more collarbone than was polite for a public place. Charlie felt a stupid grin spreading across her face, which flushed with heat at the woman's sultry stare. Damn, she thought, hurrying to put away the rest of her work things behind the bar. I used to think I was straight, she thought to herself, nearly laughing aloud at the thought. 

The door swung open on the far side of the bar, jingling a little bell attached to the top of the door's frame. The raucous noises of singing thieves and bottom-feeders nearly drowned out the chime of the newcomer's entry. Charlie caught a flash of a tan robe, a patch of messy dark hair barely visible through the crowded bar.

Is that...Charlie wondered, her eyes narrowing. The Templar Castiel searched the room, making his way towards one of the few empty tables in the bar.

If you're here, Charlie thought, trouble can't be too far behind. 

She cast a longing look over at the dark-haired woman, cussing to herself as she made her way over to Castiel's table. She grabbed a mug one of the other barmaid's had just poured for a one-eyed thug, throwing an apology over her shoulder. She heard the girl's growl in protest, followed by the sound of the thug sighing after her, "I've probably had enough tonight anyway."

Templars in bars, alcoholics with consciences. Whats next? Charlie wondered. Shape-shifting prostitutes?

"You lost, Cas?" Charlie asked, ruffling the Templar's hair from behind.

Castiel opened his mouth to protest, a thin scowl on his face. Seeing who his attacker was, a weak smile took its place. "I'm not--oh, hello Charlie." He patted down his hair, attempting to tame his ruffled bed-head. 

"What's a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?" Charlie asked 

"I'd ask you the same thing," Castiel said, accepting the mug she offered him with a nod of thanks. She watched him hang his nose over the drink for a moment before taking a sip. Checking for poison, Charlie observed with approval.

"Well, I was hoping to have a nice chat with that brunette in the corner," she replied, tipping her head in the direction of the woman.

Cas nodded, seemingly unsurprised by Charlie's sexuality. "Good luck with that one."

Charlie sat down across from him, responding to his original question. "I work here. You know, Thieves Guild hideout and all that."

Cas raised his eyebrows. "This is the Guild's headquarters?"

Charlie narrowed her eyes, absentmindedly plaiting a section of her hair. "The Templars know that. They send people here all the time. Well, one person regularly. An african, I think."

Cas nodded. "I know him. But they don't tell me everything, which I'm discovering more and more every day." He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes even more pronounced than usual. 

Drama within the knighthood, Charlie thought. Interesting.

"Well, If you're not here to see the guild, what are you doing here, Cas?" The thief asked, leaning forward a bit.

"I'm...uh, meeting someone." The Templar murmured, scratching at his ear uncomfortably. 

Charlie's eyes flashed in understanding.

"A date then."

"It's not a date, Charlie."

"Fine, then if it’s not a date, you wouldn't mind if I asked who you're waiting for."

Cas glared at her, opening his mouth to argue when the door chimed again. Charlie turned, glimpsing an upturned hood and the flash of light-gray and green robes. 

"Really?" Charlie said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she glanced at Cas out of the corner of her eye. "Really." She said, slapping her thigh in exasperation. 

"What?" He asked, his brow furrowing.

"Oh, you know what." Charlie said with a wink as she stood up. 

"I assure you--" Cas said, his eyes widening as he was interrupted by his not-date.

Dean pulled his hood off, tossing his tawny shoulder-cape onto his back and opening his arms. "Look who it is! My favorite jailbreaker," he said, enveloping the red headed thief in a hug. They embraced for a moment, and Charlie was glad to feel the presence of an honest friend like a comfortable weight, a different kind of hug for the soul. The life of a thief could be a difficult one, changing names and shedding identities and friends as often as the seasons shifted. She had a feeling Dean was different. 

Even if maintaining relationships with Assassins and Templars was an easy way to an early grave, she felt that Dean, Sam, and Cas were different.

"Sorry. My two favorite jailbreakers," Dean corrected, waving to Cas as he kissed the top of Charlie's head. Cas had stood up when Charlie did, and was now awkwardly standing opposite the two of them.

Charlie pushed him away. "Amico..." She groaned. "Don't be so handsy. I don't want people to think I like men."

"What? We're not so bad," Dean laughed. "Cas, back me up here."

Charlie fought back a snort. Back me up...oh god, she thought. He is so far in the closet. 

"Hush, you jerk." Charlie said. "You're so loud, she can probably hear what you're saying."

"What? Who?" Dean said, looking around the bar suddenly. 

"In the back corner-Jesus, you might be the least stealthy Assassin to have walked the earth. Don't be so obvious about it." Charlie hissed, running a hand through her hair. Castiel just sat at the table, his eyes wide.

"Hmm. She looks just like your type," Dean said, winking at the busty woman across the room.

Charlie smacked him, on the back. "Don't flirt with her, idiot! And how do you know I've got a type?" 

"Call it Assassin sense. A sort of third eye vision," Dean said, waggling his fingers.

Charlie shook her head, striding past Dean and waving to Castiel. The Templar lifted his hand in farewell. "You are the worst older brother ever," she murmured. 

"I heard that!" The Assassin called after her as she made her way to the green-gowned woman.

She simply shook her head. Far be it from Charlie to confront anyone about their repressed issues. Why not let them have their purely platonic, completely heterosexual man-date, she thought.

"Anyone sitting here?" Charlie asked the woman after a moment of gathering her courage. 

The woman gave her a coy smile, revealing startlingly, impossibly white teeth. "I thought you'd never ask."

\-----------------

Dean grinned as Charlie stormed away from him, turning to Cas and raising an eyebrow. He held up his arms, a question in his eyes.

Castiel crossed the distance between them quickly, and Dean was surprised by the force with which the Templar embraced him. He patted Dean on the back, releasing the assassin after a moment.

"You shouldn't tease her like that," Castiel said, sitting back down.

Dean shrugged, his eyes flicking to his friend's face. Dark circles, darker than normal, traced the undersides of his ever-so-slightly differently colored eyes. He hasn't been sleeping either, Dean thought. He had been lucky to catch an hour or two every night, haunted by dreams of his uncle falling to his death, over and over again. Each time he had the dream, it was a new person pushing him off the wall. Michael, Castiel, Sam. Last night it had been his own face, his own hands that wielded the blade, stabbing deep into Robi’s back before kicking the man off of the wall. 

He shivered at the memory. 

"You're probably right," Dean acquiesced. "She's a sweet kid. Doesn't deserve to be tortured by such a vicious, violent assassin." 

Cas nodded, sipping from his mug. "It's quite terrifying to witness. I may need years of therapy just from witnessing such torture."

"I don't suppose the Templars supply that kind of thing, do they?"

Castiel smiled, looking away. "I doubt it."

"Speaking of, how are things going with the Order of the Knights? I'm are they're just about as beat up as we are."

Cas tensed visibly. "It's true, I suppose. Both sides sustained heavy losses." 

Dean's smile fell a bit. "I guess."

"Can we...not talk about the Order?" Castiel asked, clearing his throat. 

"What, you don't trust me?" Dean said. It came out sounding like a joke, but he was actually a bit hurt. "Look, I know we're...we're supposed to be...enemies. Like I'm supposed to want to kill you, right now, just from the sight of the red stitching on your overcoat."

"It's not really an overcoat," Cas murmured, running a finger over a stylized blood-colored cross. 

Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on the unpolished wooden table, "The hell it's not really an overcoat. I thought we had moved on from this. I thought that you, pulling that miracle and healing my leg, I thought that was us moving past that." Dean said, any levity gone from his voice. He tried to meet Castiel's eyes, but the Templar hastily looked away.

"Don't you trust me?" Dean asked softly. 

Castiel's eyes flashed, and he met Dean's gaze. "Of course, Dean. How could you even ask me that? After everything we’ve..." His voice caught in his throat. "After everything I have laid on the line, everything I have sacrificed. Do you have any idea how terrified I am? Michael knows, and I think he told Gabriel. He knows that I am the one who helped get you out of Santa Carlotta. He doesn’t know how I did it though...I think.”

“You haven’t told anyone else about your...abilities?” Dean said, surprised. He assumed Cas would have told someone in the Order about his newfound powers. 

“I think my neck is already on the chopping block for aiding the enemy,” Castiel said wryly. “If I tell them I’m an abomination, I can only imagine what they’ll do to me.”

Dean gritted his teeth. “You’re not an abomination, Cas. You’re a good friend, and you’re doing the right thing.”

Castiel laughed softly, shaking his head. “It’s getting worse, Dean.”

“What is?”

“Healing you, it did things to me. Accessing that power… it unlocked something. A part of my mind.” Cas said, leaning forward and speaking quietly. “Promise you won’t think I’m crazy.”

“Can’t possibly be crazier than me.” Dean said, reaching across the table for Castiel’s drink. 

The Templar smiled nervously. “Bet you’re wrong.”

Dean shrugged, tossing back the remainder of the mug's contents.

“I’ve been hearing voices.” Castiel said quietly. Dean raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. “Just one voice, actually.”

“What does it say?” Dean asked, unblinking.

The Templar shook his head, as if trying to shoo away a fly. “Cryptic things most of the time. It’s kind of a dick, actually.”

Dean bit back a laugh, failing miserably. 

“Dean, this isn’t funny. I could be going insane.”

He waved Castiel’s fear away, consumed by deep thought. He had never heard of anything like this before, in the descriptions of sages or pieces of eden, the accounts of Templars and Assassins throughout history. “You’re one of the most rational people I know. If you’re nuts, we’re all screwed. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. What else has it said to you? And can you hear it now?” 

The Templar shook his head. “No, I told it to go away. It seems to respond to commands. But it comes back out after a few hours, knowing a little bit more about me. Or if I think about it too long, that tends to wake it up.”

“Like now?” Dean asked.

Castiel was quiet, then he nodded. 

“What’s it saying?”

Cas scratched his forearm. “Nothing important. Mostly just things it knows will bother me.”

“Like what?” Dean asked, unrelenting. If he was going to help his friend deal with this problem, especially one he had helped create, he needed to know as much as he could about what he was up against. Maybe it was all in his head, maybe it was real. Dean didn’t really know what to expect from the strange Templar anymore, but it wouldn’t surprise him if he was telling the truth. 

“Uh, right now it’s saying that Assassin robes don’t make any sense, because they would only get in the way. It thinks my “overcoat”, as you call it, is impractical as well. The tails are likely to snag on things, making for a difficult escape.”

Dean looked personally offended. “Their purpose is to look awesome. I can’t believe what I am hearing. Your stupid secondary voice has no taste.”

Castiel grinned. “It thinks that we both have bad taste in friends.”

“You’re right. It is a dick. Is it always so pragmatic?“ Dean said, impressed. 

The Templar sighed. “Sometimes. Other times it’s very cryptic. But it’s always there, even when I can’t hear it. It’s always sifting through my mind, learning more about me.” His voice was escalating in panic. “Dean, if this thing is connected to me healing you, then who knows what else it can do? Or, or...or how long until it doesn’t take no for an answer anymore?” Castiel asked, his words blurring together and stumbling over each other. “How long until…”

“Stop.” Dean said, reaching across the table to take his friend’s quivering hands. He enveloped both of the Templar’s cold, fisted hands in his own, holding them until Castiel stopped shuddering, and his breathing slowed. His hands were callused in all the right places, Dean realized, for a trained soldier. The section of skin where the Templar’s thumb met his palm was covered in scarred skin, the kind that matched Dean’s own calluses. Cas dipped his head, his chin tucked in to his chest as he inhaled, trying to calm himself down. 

“Look at me, Cas. We are going to fix this, I promise. You are not going to have to do this alone.” 

Castiel looked up, his eyes meeting Dean’s. In them, he didn’t see the strong man who had rescued him from the Crowli’s prison, or the omniscient Templar guard who had undoubtedly watched him as he slept beneath a caved-in church, broken bones and bruised body. 

In his eyes and the tremble of his mouth, Dean saw just how inexperienced Cas was with what was going on, how truly alone the man across from him felt. Fear of expulsion from the Order, the rejection of his Brothers, and the crippling fear of what was going on inside his own mind was peeling Castiel apart before his eyes. 

He was lost. And so, so afraid. 

And it was finally Dean’s turn to help him. 

“How?” The Templar finally croaked. “How are we supposed to figure this out?”

Dean sighed, stroking one of Castiel’s knuckles with his thumb absentmindedly before releasing his hands. “I don’t know, amico. But we’ll figure it out.”

“How can you be so sure?” Cas asked, biting his lip.

Dean shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “We always do. And you’ve got the power of the brotherhood behind you, man.”

“Really? They’re not mad at me for invading them and burning the village?”

Dean snorted. “You practically saved the village. You and Jo that is. She wants me to spy on you, by the way. New leader of the brotherhood.” He added offhandedly. 

Castiel nodded. “Michael asked me to gather intelligence on you as well. Maybe he thinks it will help me regain my honor for betraying the Order. Or maybe he’s just rubbing you in my face.”

“So what we’re saying is, it’s literally our jobs to spy on each other.” Dean said, a grin spreading across his face. 

Cas laughed. “That does seem to be the case.”

The two laughed at that for a minute, marveling in their unlikely friendship and the machinations of fate. 

“So why are we really here, Dean? Because you wanted to see me? It has got to be more than that.”

Dean sobered up, the smile vanishing from his face. “Well, it doesn’t have to be, but yes, you’re right. I came back to Firenze for a reason. I’m here to avenge my uncle’s death, Cas.” 

“I’m here to take Michael down.”

==============

Charlie grabbed the dark haired woman’s hand, leading her out the back door of the Sunken RIverboat. The back alley was still damp from the afternoon’s rain, the pavement slick and reflective of the moonlight above, and of the lone torch that hung by the RIverboat’s back door.

“My apartment’s down the block, not too far!” Charlie said, leading the giggling woman away from the bar. This night couldn’t get any better, she thought, exhaling the stresses of the past week and letting the beauty of the night swallow her. 

“Slow down!” The woman called after her, laughing still. “You’re too fast…”

Charlie stopped, her eyes scanning the starry sky. Orion’s belt, the two bears...her eyes caught on twin pools of reflected light hanging above her, unfamiliar in the night sky. “What…”

A loud thunk, and an explosive shock of pain blinded Charlie, who cried out in alarm, falling to her knees. Her hand went to the back of her head, coming away sticky and red. 

Blood, she thought sluggishly. I’m bleeding. 

Another crack, and the world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do ppl want me to post concept art like for the weapons and outfits and stuff like is that what we are about cuz ill do it if yall are down


	30. The Enemy of My Enemy is a Moose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and an unlikely ally attempt to rescue Charlie; meanwhile, the thief discovers who kidnapped her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im like crying after last night's episode someone help me please im in denial

Sam leapt at the shadowy figure on the rooftop beside the Sunken Riverboat, kicking the aimed crossbow out of the man's hands.

The Assassin and his target fell in a tangle of limbs and curses, kicking and punching each other until Sam managed to draw his blade, the shining silver of the sword flashing in the moonlight.

"Give me one good reason not to run you through" he growled, resting the tip of the sword against the shadow’s throat. He could see clearly now that it was a Templar, by the scarlet cross emblazoned on the man's jerkin. 

"I'll do you one better," the sandy-haired Templar choked out, "I've got two." Sam felt a thump on his chest, and looked down to see the Templar's crossbow propped between the enemies' bodies, the bolt digging into Sam's solar plexus.

"That's reason one, reason two being the girl that just got bagged down there." The Templar said, an English accent detectable through his Italian.

"What are you talking about?" Sam said, digging the tip of his sword into the Templar's neck. 

"Ouch--stop that, please. There was a young girl in that alley. Maybe if you hadn't been so busy spying on me, you would have noticed. She's probably gone by now--scooped up by that seductress that hit her in the back of the head."

Sam looked down in the alley, and caught sight of a dark haired woman and a pair of brawny looking men turn the corner, a dark brown sack thrown over the shoulder of one of the thugs. It was vaguely human sized.

"You're telling me that you were going to try and save that girl?" Sam said, surprise distracting him. The Templar shoved the Assassin off of him, rolling to his side to cradle his twisted arm.

"We're not all bad, you know. Whatever they tell you in heretic school, some fantastic tale of heroic assassins and evil Templars...that is a fool's narrative. Good and evil are merely human constructs." The Templar took a deep breath, then continued."If you hadn't jumped me, yes. I would have put an arrow through that woman's eye the moment I saw her call those thugs over.”

“Just like that? You’d have killed her, without a second thought?” Sam asked, his eyebrows creasing. 

“Oh, don’t act surprised, like you’ve all got some kind of hefty conscience. What’s your saying, your silly credo? Do whatever you want, or something like that.”

Sam was silent, not bothering to correct the Templar’s twisted knowledge. He ran a hand through his hair, absentmindedly pulling down his hood and loosening his hair out of its tie. "Then you're right. This is my fault, and I need to be the one to go get her back."

The Templar rolled to his feet, swearing under his breath. "Don't be a bloody idiot. I'm not letting an assassin go after an innocent girl. You'll probably end up getting her killed."

Sam shook his head, groaning. "What do you suggest, then?"

The Templar sighed, spreading his hands. "We could both go."

"A temporary alliance." Sam said incredulously. "Between mortal enemies, to save one girl." 

"She was quite pretty, if that has anything to do with it. Red hair, very pale. Adorable, really. I didn't get much of a look at her face, though."

Sam felt his blood run cold. "Did you say she had red hair?" 

The Templar nodded. "No wonder she got picked up. Redheads are a bit rare in this part of Italia, aren’t they?"

"I know her." Sam said, sheathing his sword. If Charlie was in trouble, and it was his fault...he had to help her. After everything she had done for Sam and Dean, he owed her a rescue. If the tables were turned, Charlie wouldn’t have hesitated to save him. 

"All the more reasons we should get moving, then." The Templar said, picking up his discarded crossbow.

The Templar shot Sam a look over his shoulder as the two men made their way down from the roof. "Don't you have a mission to take care of? Some poor old lady's husband to kill, something like that?" 

Sam frowned. "It's not very pressing, at the moment at least. What about you, holy knight? Shouldn't you be beating up a panhandler or burning a book?"

"I came here to keep an eye on my brother. Well, my roommate. But he can watch out for himself, I think." the Templar said thoughtfully. 

Sam narrowed his eyes as they dropped into the alley. That sounded a lot like the reason he was camping out on the rooftop outside the Riverboat. Using his eagle sense, he had tracked Dean through the city, finally finding his brother and his horse at the Thieves’ Guild headquarters. Sam had no idea what his brother was doing in there, but he was going to have to trust him enough to leave him. Charlie’s life was on the line. 

“Alright, then, Charlie.” Sam said quietly, making a promise to the empty evening air. “I won’t let you down.”

“Coming, moose?” The Templar called, moving through the alley after the thugs.

“What the hell is a moose?” Sam asked, following. 

The Templar scratched the back of his neck. “I actually don’t know. I’ve heard they’re quite tall, though.” 

“Oh,” Sam said. “What should I call you then?”

“I expect my name. That is convention.”

Sam bit back a wry smile. “Alright, then. I’m Sam.”

“Balthazar.” 

The enemies shook hands tensely, continuing down the alley and into the night. 

“You’re one of the Vincense brothers, then.” Balthazar murmured. 

Sam’s eyes flicked to his temporary partner’s face. “Is that a problem?”

“Nope. Just something that makes my life more complicated than it needs to be.”

“Why?”

Balthazar shook his head. “Never mind. You and your brother have just created quite a stir amongst the higher ups.”

“You burnt my home. Killed my uncle. Any inconveniences among the “higher ups” of the Templar Order are really not my main concern” Sam said. 

Balthazar shook his head, “So many flavors in this world, Sam, and you choose to be salty.”

Sam closed his eyes, activating his eagle vision for the second time that night. “There, they went that way, down the main road.”

“And how do you know that?” Balthazar asked irritatedly.

Sam smiled over his shoulder. “Assassin’s got to keep his secrets, right?”

“You’re doing a piss-poor job of it.” the Templar said with a laugh. 

They moved on in silence, finally arriving at a door that glowed golden-yellow to Sam’s eyes. “She was here,” He said quietly, gazing up at the low, one story supply house. 

Balthazar nodded, backing up as if to ram the door. 

Sam grabbed his arm hastily. “What are you doing?” He whispered frantically. 

“Busting the door down, what’s it look like?” the Templar said, surprised that Sam had stopped him. 

“Don’t do that, we have no idea what we’ll be walking into.”

“You doubt that we could kill our way through there?” Balthazar chuckled. “I could do it alone, and even with the handicap of you here, I think we’ll be just fine.”

Sam released the Templar’s arm. “All I’m saying is that there are smarter ways to do this. And maybe sometimes you don’t have to kill everyone in a room to save one person.”

Balthazar cussed in English, saying “Fine, but don’t lecture me on the morality of killing again. I’ll vomit.” He paused. “What would you have us do, then?”

Sam gazed down the street, noting sloping roofs and sagging ceilings at nearly every house. Each structure was built up to the next, so that the west wall of one house was also the east wall of its neighbor. 

“I’ve got an idea. Follow me.” Sam said, moving towards the abandoned-looking home abutting the supply house. 

“Getting bossed around by Assassins; what’s next? Life advice from demons? Sex tips from an angel?” Balthazar whispered. 

Sam shushed him, picking the lock on the door with ease. The house was dark, uncluttered by furniture or form. A narrow set of stairs led directly up from the open door across from Sam, reaching into an impenetrable darkness. Motioning for Balthazar to follow him, Sam made his way up the stairs, noting the patchy holes in the building’s ceiling. The dim light of stars shone through the roof, flooding the upper floor with dim light. 

“Watch your step.” Sam called softly, emerging onto the skeletal scaffolding of the home’s second floor. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Balthazar mumbled, peering around Sam to get a better look at the space. “Wait a moment. In the far wall…”

Sam nodded, creeping across a narrow section of the scaffolding. “It looks like a section of the paneling is loose.”

Balthazar followed him, slightly slower, nearly falling off the beam. Sam reached behind him, catching the Templar’s arm and steadying him. 

“Thanks.”

“You’re never going to live that one down, amico.” Sam said quietly. 

“It’s one floor. I’d hardly have died.” Balthazar whispered, catching his breath. 

Sam grinned. “Sure.”

The two enemies made their way to the wall abutting the storage house, where Sam tested the flimsy looking panel. It was attached, ever so slightly. He twisted his wrist, sliding out a hidden blade, but Balthazar was already prying the board from the wall with a silver blade, longer than the average dagger but much shorter than La Mer. 

It was identical to the one Castiel wore. Identical to the one buried in his Uncle’s back. 

“Got it.” The Templar said, slowly pulling the loose board from the wall, revealing a hole in the wall just barely big enough for a person to crawl through. 

“You gonna be able to fit through there?” Balthazar asked. 

Sam smirked. “We’ll see. Ladies first.”

Balthazar got on his hands and knees, heading through the rift between buildings. “Moose… plural of that... is it meese? I’ve heard that they have antlers. You probably couldn’t fit down here, your antlers are too big.” 

“Shut up” Sam hissed, following the Templar into the storehouse. 

\----------------

Charlie awoke to darkness, a cold room, and a hell of a headache. She was on her back, laying against a rough fabric over flat stone that chilled her skin through the thin cotton of her shift. Probing the angry spot on the back of her head, Charlie rolled to her side, moaning. She pulled her hand away from the back of her neck, unable to see whether there was blood on it. The darkness hung around her like a curtain, a solid, massive thing that betrayed no presence of light. 

I don’t need sight to know if my head’s bleeding. Ew, she thought, sucking on an invisible finger. Definitely bleeding.

Okay, you’re trapped, she thought. Find a way out. Figure out where you are. 

Charlie felt around on the stone floor, pushing what felt like straw across the ground. The dark room smelled faintly of piss. Coughing, she listened carefully to the echo of her own cough as it reverberated across the room, echoing back and forth off of walls behind her. The room was small, then. Find the walls. 

The thief crept forward in the darkness, holding one arm out in front of her, and probing for her stash of hidden knives with the other. She had been in spots like this before, just as bad, if not worse. Charlie knew how to handle herself. 

Damn. They had gotten them all, every hidden knife and pick. Even the one she kept in the sole of her boot, practically invisible to the naked eye. 

There, the wall. She traced the line where the floor met the ceiling, unable to find the gap of a door amongst the bricks. 

“Okay, no door. Don’t panic,” she said aloud. “No door… maybe a window, then?”

Suddenly the ceiling opened up above her, drowning Charlie in red torchlight. 

“She’s awake. Here, girl. Grab this,” A gruff voice called down to her, and something ropy hit her in the head, the aching, bleeding spot. 

“Ow.” Charlie groaned, rubbing the back of her head. 

The gruff voice softened. “Sorry.” 

Charlie nearly laughed. When had kidnappers ever apologized? 

She grabbed the rope ladder, pulling herself up through the trapdoor in the ceiling. A big, gnarled hand appeared to help her up, but she ignored it, pushing herself to her feet. Across from her, closing the trapdoor, stood the biggest man she had ever seen. He was even taller than sam, and much wider. Tattoos covered both of his arms, visible since his puffed shirt was cut off at the shoulders. A massive, iron studded belt clasped his puffed shirt at the waist, spelling out MAMMA across the belt. 

She examined the chamber that she now stood in: it looked like it had once been a storehouse, with large wooden crates scattered haphazardly around the building. From the state of the storehouse, Charlie guessed that it hadn’t been used in years. 

“Uh, hello.” Charlie said to the man.

“Buonasera, Madonna,” he responded, dipping his head politely. “Please wait just a moment--let me get you a seat. You look a bit dizzy.” He said, disappearing around a crate to reappear a moment later, carrying three woven chairs. 

“Yeah, getting hit in the back of the head and kidnapped will do that to you.” Charlie said. “Where am I?”

“It wouldn’t be much of a kidnapping if your guard just told you your location, now, would it?” He said with a smile, setting one of the high backed chairs down in front of Charlie. “Please, have a seat. My employer should be here shortly.”

Charlie hesitated, contemplating the idea of refusing. But if she just stood there, arms folded and close-mouthed, she would accomplish nothing. And she was nothing if not resourceful. Her guard wanted to be friendly. Let’s see how far we get with that, she thought. 

“Thanks,” she said, lowering herself into the seat and crossing her legs. “I don’t suppose you’re at liberty to tell me your employer’s name, are you?”

He grinned, leaning an elbow against a tall crate that barely reached his shoulder. His grin revealed a golden tooth where his left incisor should have been. 

“I figured. A girl can dream, though,” she said with a sigh. Her eyes traced the barn-like room, noting the patchy spots in the ceiling and the age-rotten frame of the building. Wherever she was, it was old. And not very sturdy. 

“Here,” The man said, tossing Charlie an object. She squeaked, just barely managing to catch a squishy something as it flew through the air. “It’s wine. Don’t look at me like that,” the man said at charlie’s raised eyebrow. “If they wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

Charlie frowned, running her sandpaper tongue over her upper lip. She drank it anyway after a moment, the wineskin quickly emptying before her thirst was quenched. The burly man seemed impressed. 

“Who is this they?” Charlie asked, under her breath.

A voice from behind her responded, sending a chill down her spine. “I think we’ve met, my dear.”

Charlie turned, fighting back a whimper. Flanked by the beautiful brunette Charlie had left the riverboat with, along with three other well dressed thugs, was the leader of the Leviathians. The Thieves Guild’s ruling head-of-state, the organization was composed of the most diverse, talented, and terrifying thieves of the city. 

 

“Riccardo Roman, at your service.” the man said, oozing forward and adjusting the collar of his shirt. “Little thief, you have been meddling with the big boys.”


	31. Concept Art!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> concept art for the babes literally just shit doodles here enjoy (throws college notebooks and runs away)

  
[Templar Cas spoopy eyes](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/Templar-Cas-spoopy-eyes-531724844) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

Castiel  
[garth the whore king lol](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/garth-the-whore-king-lol-531725219) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

Garth, the whore king. lol.  
[Assassin Dean again again](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/Assassin-Dean-again-again-531726408) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

Assassin Dean, with his little hoodie up  
[everyones weapons](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/everyones-weapons-531726284) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

Everyone's poke sticks, from left to right: Cas, Dean, Sam. Dagger, Wristblade, Sword.  
[Cas rescuing Dean from prison](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/Cas-rescuing-Dean-from-prison-531725984) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

Cas saving Dean from Crowlis prison when they first meet excuse me while i cry  
[Assassin Sam Concept Art](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/Assassin-Sam-Concept-Art-531725977) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

Sam casual concept art  
[Templar Castiel again](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/Templar-Castiel-again-531725970) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

Cas concept art dont look at his face okay i suck at faces but like his coat tho  
[Lazy Dean](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/Lazy-Dean-531725796) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

Dean lounging around on a roof, napping in the sun with his legs hanging off the side dont look at me im f ine  
[Flying Assassins](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/Flying-Assassins-531725716) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

lazy winged team free assassins i dunno theyre sketchy  
[Jo the Queen](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/Jo-the-Queen-531725611) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

Concept art for jo also very sketchy  
[Assassin Dean again](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/Assassin-Dean-again-531725510) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

Pretty Dean is pretty okay  
[Charlie's hook weapon thingy](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/Charlie-s-hook-weapon-thingy-531725276) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

Charlie's cool hookblade that I distinctly remember naming something silly but no longer remember  
[Sam concept](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/Sam-concept-531725068) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

Sam concept art  
[Assassin Dean and Templar Cas](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/Assassin-Dean-and-Templar-Cas-531725066) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

Assassin Dean and Templar Cas, credit to my roommate Brinley (who does all the beta reading) for these bad boys  
[Assassin bros hanging out](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/Assassin-bros-hanging-out-531724972) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

sketchy bros hangin out  
[Templar Cas spoopy eyes](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/Templar-Cas-spoopy-eyes-531724844) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

spoopy eyed cas oooo  
[Assassin Sketch](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/Assassin-Sketch-531724312) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

some assassin i dunno which  
[More Templar Cas](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/More-Templar-Cas-531724306) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

more templar cas  
[Templar Castiel](http://spnac.deviantart.com/art/Templar-Castiel-531724302) by [spnac](http://spnac.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

hes so cute ah


	32. Fine. For Dean.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shockingly, people stick their neck out for Dean. 
> 
> I should have been studying all day. But i didnt. I wrote this. So here, have it (throws pages) Now, back to my finals...

Cas stared at Dean, unable to keep his mouth from hanging open. The weak red light of the hearth nearest the two men was playing tricks with the shadows on the Assassin’s face, elongating them, shortening them, giving him the visage of a ghoulish mask with every flicker and crack from the hearth.

Why did you have to fall in love with the crazy one? The voice in his head asked suddenly, jarring him. This kid is going to get you killed, Castiel.

Cas didn’t dignify the voice with an answer.

Well, then the voice said, amused. You’re not even denying it anymore. 

Please go away, Cas commanded, rubbing his forehead. He didn’t need to prove anything to the stupid voice.

Why should I? he wondered to it. Why should I prove anything to you?

You don’t need to, the voice said as it faded away. I know everything about you, Castiel. Definitely more than that jawline across the table. I know more about you than you know about yourself. 

Cas made a mental note to think about that exchange more later, turning his attention back to Dean’s ludicrous proposal. 

“Was that it, Cas? The voice? What did it say?” Dean asked, leaning forward. 

Cas nodded. “It thinks you’re going to get me killed, and that you’re crazy.”

“Did it say that you shouldn’t listen to me?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Cas waited a moment before shaking his head. 

“Okay. So what do you think?” 

Cas gave him a nervous laugh. “I have to agree with him.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “It’s a ‘he’ now? How do you know that?”

 

“Call it an educated guess.” Cas said, folding his hands in front of him. “But Dean, do you understand what you’re asking of me?”

Dean raised a hand to stop him. “I’m not asking for you to kill your leader, Cas. I know what that would do to you. These people are your family, I understand that.”

“Don’t misunderstand me. I have no love for Michael.” Cas grumbled. “His leadership, and the morality of his decisions have been deteriorating. Michael has been tasked with rebuilding our Order from the ground up, after it was annihilated those years ago. He has had to do things to preserve the Templars that I do not agree with. Ordering the killings of innocents, midnight robberies, heists.” Cas took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “I have killed...so many. In the name of my brother.”

He felt a pressure on his hands: Dean’s callused fingers were around his own again, warm and reassuring. Castiel’s stomach tingled, and he wondered if the Assassin knew the effect a simple touch had on him. 

“But to kill him?” Cas murmured, staring into the depths of the Assassin’s green eyes. “Dean, that’s suicide. You wouldn’t get through the front door.”

Dean smiled, releasing Castiel’s hands. Cas shivered at the loss of warmth, holding his hands close to his stomach. 

“I’ve got friends in high places, Cas. And I’m not planning on killing him. I want him to face justice. So I want to take him back to Monterrigioni, to face a trial.”

“Then Jo will just kill him there, right? Does she even know that you’re planning this?”

Dean didn’t respond. Cas looked away. 

‘You’re unbelievable. Dean, you can’t imagine that you’ll just ride into the city, bag Michael, and ride back out, all on your own. You’re not that good.”

Dean snapped his eyes to Castiel’s. “How would you know? You’ve never seen me in action.”

“Last time you gallivanted into the city, I had to come rescue you from Crowli’s dungeon. Have you forgotten that? And anyway, no one is good enough to pull that off.”

Dean grinned. “I haven’t forgotten, Cas. And Ezio could do it.”

“You are not Ezio Auditore, Dean. You need to be smart about this, before you end up dead in the ground.”

“He killed the closest thing I’ve got to a father, Cas. Do you know what that’s like?” 

“No. I don’t have any parents. I’m an orphan. Which is why I’m part of the Templar Order.” Cas said sharply. 

Dean’s eyes softened. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”

Cas sighed, stopping him. “You couldn’t have known.” Then he added with a small smile, “They could have dropped me off at one of the whorehouses. Then it’d be a very different story.”

Dean choked, spitting out a sip of the liquor one of the barmaids had brought him.

“But they’re still my brothers,” Cas said, all humor gone. “I can’t just stand by and let you kill them.”

“He needs to face justice.” Dean said obstinately. “And he’s become a poor leader, clouded by his thirst for power. You said as much yourself. Seems to me like it’s time for nature to take care of this asshole.” 

Cas was silent, thinking. Dean did have a point. Michael’s leadership had gotten sloppy, even Gabriel had said as much to him in confidence. And stabbing the leader of the Assassins in the back, before kicking his corpse over the village wall had been an incredibly dishonorable deed. No one would dare tell him as much, but Cas saw it in the eyes of Gabriel and Balthazar. Disbelief and distrust were starting to take root. Apart from Uriel, that was. Uriel would support Michael no matter what--his latent bloodthirst was unrivaled among the Templars. 

Not to mention that if Michael was eliminated, the knowledge that Castiel had helped Dean escape would die with him. 

“If Michael were to have an accident,” Dean said, after tossing back his drink. “Speaking hypothetically. Who would stand to become the new leader of the Templars of Firenze?” 

Cas glared at him, saying “I’m not really sure. Gabriel would be the logical choice, but he could just as easily choose someone from one of the other Orders throughout Italia. I hear he is close with his sister, Raphael, the leader of Venice. Perhaps he has chosen someone from her garrison.”

Dean nodded. “Have you met her before?”

Cas nodded. “Once.” 

“And?”

He shook his head “Not someone you want as your enemy.”

“I wish I didn’t have to have enemies. But I do. It’s my job.” Dean said, leaning back in his chair. 

Cas was quiet for a moment, lost in thought. 

Cas asked suddenly, “Do you ever wish you had been born into a different life, Dean?”

“What, you mean, hang up the blades? Put away the questing, the killing, the endless need for revenge?” Castiel nodded solemnly. “Sometimes, amico. When I was a child, I was a bit resentful, but I got over it. My brother, Sam, he was very angry at my father for a while. He wondered, ‘How can a man do that to his family? Bring them into an organization of blood, death, vengeance, and do so willingly?’”

“But it never really bothered me. How can I regret the only life I have ever known?” he said with a shrug. “It’s just who I am. And if I wasn’t hunting down Templars, I have a feeling I’d be hunting down something else.”

“Like what?” Cas asked. 

Dean shrugged. “Dunno. Perhaps it’s just the hunch of an angry alcoholic.”

Cas looked around the bar, letting his eyes pass over the busty whores, the quiet drunks, and the raucous thieves. Amidst the debauchery, he and Dean were discussing morality like old nuns. He nearly laughed as the thought of the Assassin in a nun’s habit struck him. 

“What’s funny?” Dean asked, noticing Cas’ smile and returning it with one of his own. 

Castiel grinned. “Nothing important.”

Dean sobered up suddenly, his voice low. “Look, Cas. I don’t want to ask for your help. I know you’ve put a lot on the line for me, these are your brothers But--”

“I’ll do it.”

Dean blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“I said, I’ll do it. I’ll help you take Michael down.”  
\--------========----------

Charlie tried very hard to keep her breathing regular. Don’t show fear, she said to herself. You’ve been captured by Roman. The leader of the Thieves Guild. He’s pissed. He’s pissed at me, she thought, internally screaming. I’m going to die.

She had heard stories, hushed gossip told in the darkest alleys of the city. Beneath bridges and atop buildings, the thieves talked. Not anywhere near the RIverboat, or any of the other guild hideouts throughout the city. The Leviathan had ears everywhere. 

But when they took someone, rarely would a thief come back alive. And rarely would they ever speak again. One of her close friends, a thief who was called Parrot for how often he ran his mouth, was interrogated by the Leviathan a few months ago. 

Whatever information they had gotten out of her poor friend, he would never share it again. They had dropped him off near the river following a solid beating, after which Parrot blacked out. When he woke up, he tasted blood, and his body was curled around a box. Opening the lid, he had screamed inarticulately. 

Inside the box, a small and bloody mess, was Parrot’s tongue.

The poor boy could only communicate via signing after that, having never learned to read or write. Charlie hadn’t heard from him in months. 

Charlie shivered at the memory, wondering what piece of flesh the Leviathans would demand of her for her transgressions. 

“Young lady, you have gotten involved with some very powerful men.” Roman said, strutting around Charlie’s chair, the dark haired woman and his three henchmen following. One of them wore a dark robe, the hood covering his face. 

“You’ve already met my associate, Bianca. I don’t blame you for falling for her, she is quite gorgeous.” Roman said, pulling the woman close and kissing her on the cheek. 

Charlie kept her face carefully neutral. This was not her first interrogation. 

But it was the first one she feared she might not get out of alive. 

Bianca turned to Charlie, her eyes cold. “I’m sorry, darling. But I don’t swing that way.”

Charlie shrugged. “To each their own. There are dozens of less picky stupid putane in Florence just like you.”

Bianca’s eyes narrowed, and Roman laughed. “This one’s got fire. Just like her hair…” He said, walking towards her. He leaned into her, running a hand through her red locks gently. “Yes, perhaps we could get some money for that, when we’re done with you, Charlie. But that’s not your real name. Right, Celeste?”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. They had done their research. Of course they had. They were the best. 

“What do you think, Uriel?” Roman called over his shoulder to the dark robed man who stood amongst the guards. 

The hooded man growled. “You should not have used my name, you dolt.”

“We’re going to kill her anyway. Not like it matters.” Roman said with a grin. 

Charlie took a deep breath. there had to be a way out of this. There had to be. She would not die here, in the dark, in a warehouse, away from anyone she knew or loved. 

“Fine,” The one called Uriel said, pulling back his hood, revealing a middle-aged, severe looking man with dark skin. She had seen him around the Riverboat before, caught him emerging from Roman’s quarters. With a jolt, she realized that she had seen him at the battle of Monterrigioni as well. A Templar.

“This is what I get for working with Assassins.” Charlie said aloud, mentally kicking herself. “I knew this would happen. But Sam just looks like such an abused puppy. Have you ever told a puppy no?” She asked her guard, the man with Mamma etched into his belt buckle. 

He furrowed his brow. “I mean, yes. To train a dog, you have to give it verbal cues to understand.”

“But I just couldn’t say no.”Charlie continued, unhindered by his dismissal. “And I figured, he’ll help me out in return. You know, I scratch your back, you scratch mine later. But now I’m going to be tortured, and die.”

“If she keeps on like this, I’m going to cut her tongue out myself, Roman.” Uriel said, flipping his hood back up. 

Roman raised a hand, motioning for Uriel to let her keep talking. “We haven’t needed to ask any questions yet. She’s squawking like a bird.”

That’s what you think, Charlie thought. Keep him talking, keep him talking. I’m only giving you what I don’t need.

“Ask her a real question, please. I don’t have all night to listen to a stupid girl talk about puppies.” Uriel said with a frown, reading her mind. 

“You’re no fun,” Charlie said, raising an eyebrow. She was fighting desperately to appear cocky, but internally she was screaming. Templars and Leviathan--she was so far up shit creek. 

“Oh, I’ll have fun.” Uriel said calmly, baring his teeth at her. 

Charlie fought back a squeak. “Don’t scare the poor girl.” Roman said. “Look, Charlie. Celeste. Whatever name you go by. We just want some information, that’s all.”

“Information about what?” Charlie said hesitantly. 

Roman grinned. “Just some of those new friends of yours.”

“The Assassins,” Charlie said hesitantly. 

“How cute. It’s thinking.” Uriel whispered. 

“Just one Assassin. Dean Vincense.” Roman said, motioning for Charlie’s guard, the one with the Mamma belt, to step forward. He did, pulling a small, curved knife from a pocket. Charlie shuddered. 

“Now, you don’t owe this boy any loyalty. You’re just a lowly thief. And the information we gain from you, maybe it won’t even mean anything to us. You wouldn’t want to stake your pretty face on one Assassin.” Roman said

Charlie gritted her teeth. “Maybe not for any Assassin. But I’d do it,” 

The torturer flicked the curved knife. “For Dean.” Charlie said, swallowing. 

“And why is that?” Roman asked. 

“He owes me a favor. One that I can’t collect if he’s dead.” Charlie said, catching sight of a bit of fabric moving in the exposed framework of the roof. 

“Start talking. You can’t collect on favors if you’re dead too, you know. That would be unfortunate.” the leader of the Leviathan said, oblivious to the two shadows moving above him up in the rafters. 

That had better be a rescue party, Charlie thought. And not more enemies. How many fucking enemies can one girl have, she wondered. Templars, Leviathan, Guarda…

Roman motioned to the torturer, touching his index finger to the area just below his eye. The torturer moved quickly, his movement a blur. A flash of cold steel, and then white hot pain, exploded from Charlie’s left eye, and she couldn’t hold back her shriek of pain. 

“We wouldn’t want to have you lose the other eye.” Roman said calmly, his voice as cordial as if he discussed the weather, or the holdings of his business. “When you abducted Dean Vincense, was he crippled? How did he manage to walk out of the Templar hideout alive, when he hadn’t been able to move unaided for weeks?” 

Charlie clutched at the mess of blood and tissue that had been here eye, biting back a string of curses. 

“I don’t know. He was fine when we found him.” the wounded thief spat.

“Who else was helping you?” Charlie heard him say, her other eye clenched tightly shut. 

She was about to reply with a “Go to hell,” which would surely have been the last thing she ever said.

But that was when the screaming started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn'T WANT TO HURT CHARLIE IT JUST HAPPENED I AM SO SORRY NO ONE SHOUDL HURT HER I HATE ME I HATE THEM I HATE EVRYTHIN bYE


	33. It's My Turn, Now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balthazar and Sam try to spring Charlie, Dean and Cas end their bro-date* 
> 
>  
> 
> *in a not-so-het way

Charlie watched the scene before her through a haze of pain and fear, still clutching at her ruined eye. 

What a shitshow, she thought sluggishly, as her brain tried to connect what she was seeing with where she was in space and time. Things were happening around her, people moving and screaming, drawing weapons and drawing blood. 

The two dark shapes she had noticed in the rafters had fallen from the ceiling, one of them dropping onto the torturer who stood across from her. The other fell on top of the hooded Templar, Uriel. 

The torturer yelped and fell forward, a silver blade reaching around to trace a wet, red track across his neck. He choked, falling forward onto a very shocked Charlie. Blood gushed from his neck as his heavily inked arms flailed around, trying to clutch at the blond figure behind him, who had disengaged and was now fighting the other thugs. 

Charlie groaned and kicked out with both feet, shoving the choking torturer away from her. The force of the kick threw her out of the chair, and she fell to the floor with a yelp. 

Find a weapon, Charlie, she thought to herself. It’s kill or be killed. Get your shit together. 

“Go. I’ll meet you at the docks,” Charlie heard Roman yell. The brunette whore who had been Charlie’s bait dashed through her line of sight, managing to step on the thief’s hand on her way. 

Charlie cursed, her fingers finding the tiny knife that the torturer had used to slice her eye open. Charlie grinned wildly, her own blood and the blood of her torturer salty on her lips. Sitting up, she leveled the knife, aiming it at the fleeing girl’s neck. She wouldn’t miss. 

“No one fucks with me, ” She murmured, about to sink the knife into the woman’s flesh. 

The sound of a flap of fabric and a strangled shout distracted her, and she turned her head to see the Leviathan, Roman, standing alone. His eyes were locked on Uriel and the other man who had fallen from the ceiling, his own shining throwing knife clutched between his fingers. 

Uriel and the Assassin, delineated by his flowing navy robes, had drawn their blades. The tall Assassin, who Charlie realized with a jolt was Sam, wielded a long, shining sword. Uriel was fighting furiously, but Sam’s new weapon was giving him both the advantage of distance and power. The men fought wordlessly, Uriel’s teeth flashing as he swung his blade. Sam’s face was expressionless: he was fighting like a machine, all feeling gone. 

Without thinking, Charlie flung the knife at Roman’s forearm, catching the Leviathan in the wrist. He yelped and dropped the throwing knife, turning to look at Charlie with cold aggression. Charlie nearly fell back. It wasn’t rage that she saw in his eyes, as she expected. She was used to angry enemies, drunkards, brigands, people who didn’t want to die. Moved by fear, love, whatever. People were all driven by feelings that amounted to different kinds of rawest anger. 

But what burned behind Roman’s black eyes was simple, undivided purpose. There was no trace of anger clouding his judgement. And Charlie had just thrown herself in between Roman and his objective. 

He strode towards her quickly while Charlie shoved herself to her feet, her head spinning. 

“Still trying to protect those Assassins, hmm?” Roman said, reaching out and grabbing her neck aggressively. She gritted her teeth, digging her fingernails into his forearm. “Must be hard, with only one eye. Aiming that little blade. That, now that took skill. I bet you could have made something of yourself, girl. Become something in this world. But then you went and allied yourself with them. Not wise. If you had worked for me, maybe I could have made something of you.”

“I will be the last thing that you see before you die, Roman,” Charlie spat, gathering her strength. 

“Oh don’t be so drama--” he started to say. Charlie stopped him, twisting his forearm behind his back, shoving him away from her and into a pile of flimsy crates. Roman fell with a crash, the crates breaking open in a cloud of dust and debris. 

Across the storeroom, Uriel and Sam were still dueling silently, darting in and out of the space between them, taking flecks of blood and swatches of flesh with them at each movement. Sam clutched his abdomen, and the Templar was favoring his leg. He had switched his blade to his left hand, his right arm hanging limp by his side.

To Charlie’s left, the man who had killed her torturer fought the final guard, having made a bloody mess of Roman’s other hired muscle. 

Across the room, Uriel cursed, and the blond man turned at the sound. Charlie caught a glimpse of his jerkin, and the red emblazoned Templar cross stitched into the breast. The man’s eyes widened as he watched Uriel stumble, falling to the ground. 

The thug he had been fighting yelled in triumph, raising his sword to strike down the distracted Templar. His eyes flicked back to his own enemy, unable to do anything but watch the weapon descend towards his neck. 

Charlie jumped forward, tackling the blond templar out of harm’s way. They fell in a tangle of limbs, and she looked up over her shoulder as they hit the ground. 

“Move!” She shouted, rolling away from the Templar as the thug’s sword struck the floor where she had been. He scrambled away, readying his blade. 

Charlie heard Roman bark an order, and the man halted, his sword raised above his head. He spat at the blond Templar before turning and leaving the him and the thief to go stand beside his master. 

“This isn’t over,” Roman said, no trace of fear or anger in his voice. “And when it is, girl, I will have much more than your other eye.”

The thug tossed a crate down in front of them, smashing it on the floor and releasing a smoky white cloud of dust. When the cloud cleared, they were gone. 

“And he tells me not to be dramatic,” Charlie sighed, closing her eye and falling back onto the floor. 

The Templar’s breathing slowed, and he replied. “He sure knows how to make an exit, I’ll give him that.”

Charlie stuck a bloody hand in the air towards where the Templar kneeled. “Name’s Charlie. Thanks for coming to my, uh, rescue.” 

The Templar chuckled, shaking her hand and replying. “Balthazar. And it looks like you’ve been doing a lot more of the heroics than I, Charlie. Without you, I fear I wouldn’t have made it out of that fight.”

“How’s Sam?” She asked without opening her eye. 

“Oh, Fuck. Sam!” The Templar shouted, rolling to his feet. His footsteps shook the creaky floor as he rushed over to where the Assassin had been fighting Uriel. 

The footsteps stopped. “Oh, God.” 

“I wouldn’t have killed him, Balthazar. I offered him mercy.” 

“How am I supposed to explain this?” Balthazar yelled. “Oh, no.” Charlie heard the rustle of fabric as Balthazar fell to the floor. 

“I told him I wouldn’t kill a man I had fought honestly.” Sam said, discomfort dripping from his voice. “He called me a coward. Said that he could think of no greater dishonor than walking away from a fight with an Assassin.”

“He killed himself,” Balthazar murmured. 

Sam was silent. Charlie assumed he had nodded his head. 

“Charlie?” Sam asked quietly. 

The thief stuck a bloody hand in the air, remaining on her back. “Over here, Sam.” 

The floor shook again as the Assassin ran over to Charlie.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, falling to his knees. 

Charlie sighed, sitting up and opening her eye. “Yeah, but I probably won’t die. Which is an improvement. Thanks for coming to get me, asshole.”

Sam smiled, Uriel’s blood streaked across his face. His smile faded as he examined her face, and his bloody hand moved to cover his mouth. “Oh, my God, Charlie. Your eye…”

She smiled. “Hey, at least I get to wear an eyepatch now, right? How cool is that? An eyepatch…” the thief mumbled, as the world grew fuzzy around her. “That’s like, so badass...”

“Hey, Charlie!” Sam said, shaking her a little. “Don’t fall asleep. We need to get you someplace safe.”

“...Riverboat…” Charlie mumbled. “My apartment’s two buildings south of...the bar.”

Sam said something, his words blending together and the world turning black as her head fell back, and she passed out.

Again. 

 

\-------------------

Cas laughed, stumbling out of the bar after Dean. The two men had just been swept up in a bar dance that nearly every thief in the bar had stood up for, pounding fists on tables and at the very least, tapping their feet. Cas had (perhaps after a little too much liquor) pulled Dean out into the open floor, ignoring the Assassin’s half hearted protests. A mess of scruffy-looking musicians had begun to wail on their fiddles, drums, and lutes, sending the barmaids, thieves, and finally Dean and Castiel spinning. 

The Assassin and Templar laughed, bumping into tables and falling onto other dancers, who would stamp with them for a time, spinning them around and sending them tumbling back towards each other.

“How long were we dancing for?” Dean asked, taking a deep breath. Castiel mimicked his friend, inhaling the night’s humid air and shrugging. 

“It had to be at least an hour. My feet are killing me,” Dean said, bending his knees. His eyes crinkled at the corners, smile lines that made Castiel wink in the knees. 

Castiel grinned, closing his eyes and drawing on the latent power that had been burning inside of him ever since he had healed that bird, since the voice had started talking to him. He had been repressing it for so long, shoving the voice and its power down, silencing it. 

Castiel was sick of bottling it up. 

Heat radiated from his core to his palms, glowing white and hot with raw energy. “I could fix that foot pain for you, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes widened and he grabbed Castiel’s glowing hands, shoving them into the pockets of the Templar’s overcoat. He looked down the alley frantically, searching for lingering drunkards. 

“No one saw. I was being careful.” Cas said with a sheepish grin. Part of him knew he was drunk, that he would never have acted this way if he was sober. A stronger part of him didn’t care, at all. 

Dean frowned, seizing his friend by the collar of his shirt and slamming the Templar against the wall of the ball. “Damn it, Cas! You idiot--What if someone had seen that?” Dean hissed. “What if the Templars found out? You could be hanged, you...”

“What, because of what I am? What am I, Dean? Some freak of nature? I’m tired,” Cas said, a bit too loudly. 

Let it out, the voice hummed to Castiel. Lose control. Go there. 

He lowered his voice. “I am tired of hiding, Dean. There are...too many secrets.”

Dean was still holding on to Cas’s collar. The Assassin breathed heavily, his green eyes drilling into the Templar’s own. 

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Like what?” 

The burning power that Cas had allowed to bubble up swelled within him, radiating from his toes to the top of his head. It enveloped his body and mind, a blue-white shot of energy that overwhelmed every bit of willpower and inhibition Castiel possessed. He opened his mouth to respond, when the voice said quietly, Like me. It’s my turn now. 

“Like me,” He said aloud, the words and voice not his own, his tongue moving not because he commanded it.

Castiel’s watched his arms move, grabbing Dean’s hood and pulling the Assassin close to him. His hands still glowed, throwing a blue light on both their faces from below, casting strange lines on their faces. Dean looked like a demon in the light, the glow illuminating the shock on the Assassin’s face. 

Dean pulled back a hand from Castiel’s collar slowly, twisting his wrist and sliding his hidden blade out. He leveled the blade at Castiel’s neck, fear flickering in and out of his eyes. 

“Don’t do anything stupid, Cas.” Dean said quietly. 

Castiel felt his mouth turn up, and he heard a voice that was not his say, “It’s my turn now.” 

Then Castiel moved as if possessed: he didn’t ask his hands to drag Dean closer, or tell his head to dip below Dean’s hood. 

He didn’t ask his eyes to close, his fingers to dig into the back of Dean’s neck, playing with the space where the Assassin’s smooth skin met his hair at the nape of his neck. 

Castiel didn’t choose to kiss him. 

His mouth crushed against Dean’s as he pulled the Assassin closer, stopping the Assassin’s noise of surprise before it escaped. Dean froze against Castiel’s touch, letting whatever was controlling the Templar explore him motionlessly. 

The white-hot power receded from Castiel’s head and sank inwards towards his core. You can thank me later, the voice said as it faded. The sexual tension was just killing me. 

Before Cas had the chance to pull away, regaining control of his body, Dean leaned forward, turning his head to deepen the kiss. Castiel’s eyes opened slowly as his control returned, the power of the voice fading away. Dean’s own eyes were closed. The Assassin had twisted his wrist blade away, and was running a calloused thumb along Castiel’s jaw line. The Assassin’s touch left a soothing chill where Dean’s fingers touched his burning skin. 

Castiel didn’t choose to kiss him. 

But damn, Cas was glad that he did.

“Dean...Dean.’” Cas murmured, breaking the kiss. 

The Assassin stepped back as if slapped, moving a few feet away from the Templar. He flipped his hood back, turning away from Castiel and running his hands through his hair. 

“Cas, you can’t...you can’t just kiss people, man!” Dean yelled. 

“Dean, that wasn’t me.” Castiel said, his skin burning where Dean’s cooling hands had been. 

Dean scratched at the back of his neck uncomfortably, his eyes wide. “Oh, so who did it then? Jesus Christ?”

“It was the voice, it just took control.” Cas said through gritted teeth.

“You mean, it possessed you?” Dean asked, his face flushed. With a jolt, Cas realized the Assassin was blushing. 

Castiel nodded. 

“Oh. Well, then.” Dean said, taking a deep breath. He laughed nervously. “I’ve..never been kissed by a man before.”

Cas gave him a weak smile. “Me neither. I’ve also never been possessed by an unknown entity.”

Both the men stood there, the silence between them solidifying into a tangible, monstrous mass. 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m not saying I didn’t like it.”

Castiel cocked his head slightly in surprise. Dean continued, “But if this thing is getting stronger, then we need to figure out what it is and how to get rid of it...fast.” 

Cas opened his mouth to reply when a loud clatter from one end of the alley interrupted him. He and Dean turned to see Balthazar and Sam stumble into the alley, Sam clutching what looked like a dead barmaid in his arms, the blood-soaked shift seeping into the Assassin’s robes. Castiel’s eyes widened. It was Charlie. 

“Hello, boys.” Balthazar said. “Looks like we’ve got some catching up to do.”


	34. Not Really a Chapter!

This isn't the next chapter--I just wanted to let you guys know that the next one probably won't be up until Sunday/Monday ...I'm in finals week and I'm moving out of my dorm, so I just don't have time to write this week (I wish i did damn) (I am so stressed out ha ha ha)

Thanks for reading, friends! Everything should be back to normal next week. 

Love, Sean


	35. Kingdom of Moons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEy hey im back everyone its all great everythingS GREAT THE SEASON FINALE IS toDAY and EvERYTHing is fINE i am FIN E i will CRY A LOT but that is fine haha. 
> 
> Picking up where we left off, Dean and Cas just kissed for the first time in a really awkward way, it was pretty weird, now Balthazar and SAm show up in the dark alley behind the bar and they have to fix Charlie up ha ha nothing makes sense anykmore just read the damn thing

Dean and Castiel stood frozen in the alleyway as Sam and a man Dean didn’t recognize approached, Sam still cradling Charlie in his arms. Dean swallowed, fearing the worst.

Not Charlie, he thought. Please, not Charlie. Dean’s eyes flicked from Sam’s blank gaze to Charlie’s body, her barmaid’s shift torn and bloodstained. Whoever did this was going to pay, in blood. Blood and fire. 

...Sam. Sam was carrying Charlie. If Sam had hurt her...

“Charlie...?” Dean asked, stepping towards his brother and the Templar.

“She’s fine.” Sam said, shifting his weight as the thief shifted. “Just unconscious.”

The man beside Sam raised an eyebrow. “Fine is a word I would not apply to poor Charlie. Alive, yes. FIne….” 

“What happened?” Castiel called from behind Dean, and he saw his brother stiffen at the sound of the Templar’s voice. 

The man Sam had approached with fidgeted. From the red cross stitched into his jerkin, the blond was a Templar, and Dean realized with a jolt that he recognized him from the siege of Monteriggioni. 

“Shouldn’t we be having this exchange somewhere a bit safer, seeing as we are at the doorstep of the enemy?” the Templar asked. 

“The enemy?” Dean said, narrowing his eyes. “With that cross on your chest, you’re looking a lot like my enemy.”

“Ah. Your ‘enemy’.” The Templar said, making air quotes with his fingers. “You seem pretty chummy with my friend Castiel here, and if you look closely, you’ll see his robe has two Templar crosses. Double the warning, Assassin.” The Templar said, unblinking. 

“He’s not a threat, Dean.” Castiel said, shifting uncomfortably beside him. 

“You know this man?” Dean asked Cas, itching to draw his hidden blade. 

Castiel sighed. “Balthazar is my best friend--we live together. I’ve known him since we were children. ” 

“Oh.” Dean said, raising an eyebrow. “Well, if it’s not the Templars after us, then who is it?” 

Sam shook his head. “We’ll talk about it after we patch Charlie up. She said she lived not far from here before she passed out, a couple of buildings south of the bar.”

The Assassins and Templars made their way down the alley silently, the tension between them thick as the humid night air. 

“Where?” Dean whispered to his brother. 

Sam’s eyes darted between the structures lining the alley: the backside of a few shops, the stables where Dean had left Imp for the evening. Nothing looked residential to Dean.

“She said two buildings down from the Riverboat.” Sam murmured. 

Balthazar moved forward to examine the door of the building. A thin wooden placard was lazily hung from the door. “This is a...a gaming group, it says. What on earth does that mean?”

“What do mundanes want at this hour?” A nasal voice from behind the door called. A small wooden panel slid aside, revealing a pair of watery eyes. “It is far too late to seek the kingdom of Moondor; our meetings are strictly between the hours of dusk to midnight on weekdays. It is neither a weekday nor between those hours.”

The four men were struck speechless. “Well, what do you want?” The voice behind the door asked again. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Uh, we were wondering if you knew if a girl named Charlie lived...here.”

The voice sniffled, and the eyes disappeared as the man behind the door blew his nose loudly. “I’ve heard of no Charlie before. Our Queen of Moons, however, walks in daylight under the alias of Carrie. Perhaps you speak of her, or one of her assosciates?”

“Sounds like something she would do, doesn’t it?” Dean murmured, leaning back towards his brother. 

Sam grinned. “What, change her name? Or join a...Moondork?”

“Yes.” Dean replied. 

“It’s Moondor, you heathenish pagan.” the voice said from behind the door. “Insult my kingdom again, and I shall have your head on a pike!”

“I doubt that very much.” Balthazar said under his breath. Dean heard a thump followed by Balthazar’s stifled “ow” as Castiel stamped on his friend’s foot. 

The voice took a shaky breath. Oh no, Dean thought. Here we go. 

“I will have you know that I, Boltar the Furious, have no issue--”

Cas cut him off. “We’re friends of Carrie, and we need to get inside. It’s very important.”

The eyes in the slat of the door blinked, and “Boltar” slid the panel closed. 

“Damn it, Cas,” Dean groaned. “We almost had--”

The door swung open. “Any friend of the Queen is a friend of the Court,” Boltar said. The young man was scrawny and short, and gripped a lit candle in his hand. He was clearly dressed for sleep, his dark blue pants and shirt stitched with miniature moons and stars, something a spoiled child with an expensive seamstress would have worn. Dean had to use every bit of self restraint he possessed not to laugh in the man’s face. He could hear Sam and Balthazar struggling similarly behind him. 

“Where’s the Queen’s, uh, quarters?” Balthazar asked, trying to block Boltar’s vision of his unconscious Queen. The fewer questions they had to answer, the better. 

“Just up the stairs. Last door at the end of the hall. Are you sure you know Carrie? I don’t know if she’s ever spoken about you before…”

Balthazar laughed loudly as Sam, Dean, and Cas made their way through the ground floor, around circular tables covered in neatly stacked card stacks, books, and tin pieces arranged in sets. Bookshelves lined every open area of wall, and colorful tapestries hung from each corner of the room.

“Ah, she wouldn’t talk about us, now would she? You know her…” Balthazar’s voice trailed off as the brothers made their way up the stairs. 

“How long can he keep him talking?” Sam called over his shoulder. 

Castiel responded, “Balthazar is competent. He’ll manage.”

The three men emerged onto a dark landing. “It’s black as pitch in here. I can’t see a damn thing.” Dean hissed. “How are we supposed to know which room is Charlie’s?”

“Here.” Cas said quietly, and a moment later, a soft white-blue light flooded the hallway. Dean turned around, to see one of Castiel’s palms illuminated, the way it had been in the alley. 

Right before Cas had kissed him. 

“Madonna de Dios,” Sam mumbled. “Wow. How are you doing that, Cas?”

Castiel shrugged, ducking around the Assassins to examine the doors. “It’s a long story.”

Sam opened his mouth, unsatisfied with that answer, but Dean shook his head. Sam narrowed his eyes at his brother. “You can’t keep me in the dark on all this, Dean.”

“And I won’t, fratello. It’s just--”

Dean was interrupted by a thud at the other end of the hallway, and the light from Castiel’s palm flickered and went out. “Ouch.” Cas said weakly. “I found Charlie’s door.” 

“You okay?” Sam called to the Templar as Dean stepped forward. Castiel put up a hand. 

“Our friend has her door trapped.”

Sam moved forward slowly, examining the door and the space in front of it. 

“Sammy?” Dean said. “Can you see the traps here?” 

Sam took a deep breath. ”I’ll try. Here, take Charlie.” Dean winced as Sam awkwardly passed Charlie to him, trying his best not to jostle the girl, and reopen any wounds. Dean was burning to ask his brother what had happened to the girl who had helped save his life, who had been by his side through the toughest day he had ever experienced. Charlie was still, breathing slowly. Dean pushed her matted hair out of her face, and his breath hitched. 

A bloody mess was all that remained of Charlie’s left eye, matting in her red hair and starting to darken against her white skin. 

They were going to pay. He knew Charlie would be hell-bent on vengeance as soon as she opened her eyes--well, eye. If Dean didn’t get to them, Charlie would. Whoever had done this had significantly shortened their life expectancy. 

“What is he..” Cas started to say, but Dean shook his head, dragging Cas up to his feet with one hand while still holding Charlie awkwardly. Sam would need all of his concentration to use his eagle senses to detect the traps and pick them apart. Cas asking questions would have to wait.

After five minutes of tinkering, Balthazar rejoined them. Castiel put a finger to his lips, and the Templar nodded. 

Click-click-tick. “Got it.” Sam said, pushing open the door. “No traps inside, as far as I can tell.”

“How did you do that, Sam?” Cas asked, as Dean pushed past his brother and into Charlie’s apartment. 

“Eagle sense. Some Assassins have a third eye sight.”

Castiel nodded, his eyes sparking. “I’ve heard of it. It’s an interesting concept. Have the Assassins done any research on what they think causes the sight?”

Sam shook his head. “Not much. I was starting to do some research a few months ago, before all this started to snowball. I found a few cases of similar “sight” in the general population, amongst different classes of Florence. But that research stopped when Dean went missing.”

Another thud came from inside the apartment, as Dean fumbled around for Charlie’s bed, or a couch. “Can you bitches help me out in here, or am I interrupting something?” Dean called over his shoulder. “I could use some glowy hands right about now.”

“Here. Boltarb the Furry lent me a candle.” Balthazar said, barging past the two. and into the dim apartment. 

“Thanks,” Dean said, spying a grungy looking sofa in one corner of the apartment. “There, we’ll put her over there. See if you can get some more light going in here, would you?” 

Dean gently laid Charlie on the couch, the wounded thief stirring a bit as she left the Assassin’s arms. 

“...Dean?” She croaked. 

Dean knelt down beside her, his voice breaking. “Hey, kiddo. How are you feeling?”

Charlie gritted her teeth. “Like hammered shit. Is your idiot brother okay?”

“He’s fine,” Dean responded, a tense smile spreading across his face. 

“Hey, I heard that,” Sam called, stepping into the room. “You’re lucky we showed up to save your ass. Another minute and you might be missing more than just an eye.”

Charlie was breathing deeply, her inhalations shaky and her muscles quivering. “Yeah, good thing it was your fault I was in there in the first place.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, just as Cas placed a steaming mug on the table next to Charlie’s sofa. Charlie grinned at Castiel gratefully, slowly sitting up and drinking from the mug. 

“Thanks for the tea, Cas. This is my favorite mug, too. To answer your question, Sam, the reason the Leviathans kidnapped me is because they had questions about you two. Well, mostly about Dean.”

Dean shook his head. What more could these people want from him? “What do they want from me?” 

Charlie gritted her teeth, wincing as she touched the area around her ruined eye. “Not just you, asshole. Your boyfriend, too. They want to know how a crippled Assassin, a victim of weeks of torture, unable to walk without aid, is able to vanish in one evening. I was there that night, Dean, and I saw no crippled Assassin.” She said, her eye boring into him. “You were able bodied, perfectly fine by the time Sam and I got there. Hell, you probably could have broken yourself out of that church without us.” 

“But what they don’t understand, and what I don’t understand, is how.” Charlie said. 

“I can’t tell you that, Charlie.”

“I almost died for this, Dean. Whatever secret you think you need to keep, I deserve to know.”

Dean growled, “It’s not mine to tell.”

“It was my fault they tortured you, Charlie.” Castiel said quietly. 

Charlie’s mouth opened in shock, and her violent gaze softened. “What...Cas, why..?”

“Let me tell you my story.” Cas said. 

Cas stood up, surveying the room. His eyes passed from Charlie on the couch, to Sam beside him, to Balthazar leaning against the door frame, and finally to Dean, kneeling on the floor behind Charlie. 

“Let me tell you everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may be a spottier schedule for me posting new chapters, since I have a lot less time to do what I want when I'm at home *shockingly* as opposed to at school. Imma try to keep it up and regular, but like, ya know.


	36. Fallen and Fixed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IN WHICH sam, dean, balthazar, and charlie have a good talk, dean gets a little drunk, and sam buys everyone sweets. my kinda chapter. Well, I guess they're all my kind of chapters, since i wrote them all. But still. My kind of chapter.

"Balthazar hasn't always been my partner in the field. When I was an apprentice, and even before, I worked closely with another Templar. A woman named Anna."

Balthazar coughed. "You're just going to leave out the part about Anna being your sister then, are you?"

"I'm going to see if I can find something to dress Charlie's wounds." Sam mumbled, moving down the hallway in search of rags and medicine. He wasn't particularly interested in listening to the life story of a Templar, much less of Castiel. Sam knew that the Templar had stuck his neck out for his brother a lot, more than made sense, but there was something about him that Sam couldn't find it in himself to trust. All his life, he had fought against men with the same ideals, the same scarlet cross stitched into every garment they owned. 

He dug through a chest in a small spare room, pulling out a few thin looking strips of cloth. Making his way back into the main room, he heard Castiel say "She was my sister, yes. But blood only gets you so far. You are just as much my brother, Balthazar, as Anna was a sister to me. All my brothers and sisters in the order are."

"How can you say that, Castiel?" Balthazar asked, his expression pained. "How can you say that I am your brother, that you are so loyal to us, when I catch you having clandestine meetings with Assassins? Michael thought you were up to something, he knew. That's why he asked me to look after you."

"You were spying on me." Cas said, taken aback. It wasn't a question. 

"Got any liquor, Charlie?" Sam asked the still-bleeding girl on the couch. 

"The far right cupboard in the kitchen, Sam." Charlie said, her voice strained. 

Dean shook his head. "Can this argument wait until later, you idiots? We got a girl dying over here."

Cas blinked, as if he had forgotten all about Charlie. He nodded, moving over to the old couch the thief was curled up on. 

"Charlie, can I see your eye, please?"

Charlie said nothing, staring Castiel down with her right eye. Her upper lip curled, threatening to turn into a snarl. 

"I might be able to fix it."

"How?" Sam asked suddenly, pulling a jug from the kitchen cupboard and returning to the main room. "Her eye is gone, thanks to me. If I had been a little sooner, Charlie…"

"Shut up, Sam. The whole "guilt-ridden hero" thing is starting to get really old. I don't blame you." Charlie said. "To repeat Sam's question, Castiel, how do you plan on fixing my eye? I doubt there's any eye left there to fix, even if it was possible. "

Cas bit his lip, moving his palm an inch over the right side of Charlie's face. "As I was saying, I worked with Anna for years. She was a lot like you, Charlie. A redhead, very intelligent. She had some of the best potential of our generation, but she and Gabriel didn't get along very well. But they were both rebels. " Castiel said, nostalgia clouding his eyes. 

"You can say that again," Balthazar mumbled.

Castiel gave his partner a look. 

Balthazar held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, so I'm one to talk, but come on. No one is perfect, Castiel. Especially not you."

"At least I try to uphold the tenets of our Order. Following the orders of our superiors blindly is folly, Balthazar. You know that." Castiel said. "But on the night before Anna and I were first initiated into the Order, there was an accident. She wanted to race to the top of Santa Carlotta, and she almost made it. It's not structurally sound, and she reached out to grab a piece of scaffolding that had rotted away. "

"She fell." Dean said. 

Cas nodded. "She fell. When I climbed down to get her, she wasn’t breathing anymore. And I got so mad. We are trained not to regard blood relations very highly. But Anna was the only person that I really… cared about. The only other human I had a measurable tie to in this world. Our parents gave us to the Templar order to repay a debt when we were young. She was all I ever had, and she was dying before my eyes. "

"So you healed her." Charlie said quietly.

Balthazar crossed his arms. "What do you mean, healed?" 

Castiel nodded. "Yes, I healed her. I didn't know how, and I still don't know how. But I healed her. One minute I was angry, and seeing red. Then, everything went white, white rays shot out of my hands."

"And?" Dean asked. 

"I lost consciousness. Gabriel found me a few weeks later, naked in a barn in North Tuscany. Apparently, I was trying to communicate with the barn cats. " 

Dean chuckled at that. "What about Anna?" he asked. 

"Physically, she was perfectly healed. However, the medics thought that she sustained some kind of permanent brain damage. She had no memory of her past, or of me."

Balthazar nodded. "Michael thought it would be better for her to recover away from Firenze. I believe he had her sent to Spain. When was the last time you heard from her, Cas?"

Castiel shook his head, closing his eyes. "She stopped answering my letters years ago. I don't blame her. They told her that her memories would return with time, but I'm not sure that they did."

Sam snorted in disbelief. "So, what, you just have this unexplained power, and you have no idea how you got it. You shoot light out of your hands, heal someone, and black out? " His eyes flicked from his brother's face to Charlie's to Balthazar's, settling on Castiel's. "You can't expect us to believe that."

"Sammy, it's true. I know how it sounds." Dean said, giving his brother a look. "But he's telling the truth."

"How would you know, Dean? We don't know him at all! We know nothing about this Templar," Sam said, his voice growing louder and louder. Sam knew he was losing it, but he didn't care anymore. His brother had kept him in the dark long enough.

"I know because he healed me, Sam." Dean said with a sigh. "Crowli and his slice-happy guards broke my leg. Bad. Never-walk-again bad. Cas fixed me up. Which is why, when you and Charlie came to spring me, you guys didn't have to carry me out of the damn church. Having to drag along a crippled Assassin would have made saving the peasants in the Mercato, and getting to Monterrigioni, a lot harder. Without Cas' help, I probably wouldn't be here. And neither would a lot of innocent people." 

Dean stopped, breathing heavily. "So stop treating him like he's yesterday's horseshit. He's done nothing but help us at every opportunity."

Sam looked away from his brother, taken aback. "This is above my paygrade" he mumbled. 

"Yeah well, you're in it now. So shut your face and suck it up," his brother said firmly.

The room was quiet for a moment. 

"So… can you fix me?" Charlie asked the Templar hopefully, breaking the silence. "If not, I can start rocking an eyepatch. One of the girls who works at the Riverboat has one. It's kinda hot, actually." 

Castiel furrowed his brow. "I think I may be able to. But I have no idea what the consequences will be."

"What, you lose consciousness for a few days? That's insane." Balthazar said, incredulous. This information seemed as new to the Templar as it did to Sam. At least I'm not alone in thinking this is nuts, he thought. 

"Yeah, or he gets mindwiped, or hijacked. Whatever gives him this power, it's powerful. And it's aware." Dean said. "It might not be something we want to mess with."

Cas shook his head, examining Charlie's face. "That's my decision to make, Dean." 

The Templar raised his eyebrows at Charlie, who nodded cautiously. Castiel pressed his right hand to the left side of Charlie's face, covering her gory eye socket. Charlie breathed shakily, gritting her teeth. Castiel closed his eyes, a white bolt of light emanating from between his fingers. 

They remained like that for a solid minute, Castiel with his eyes closed, a serene expression on his face, and Charlie with her teeth locked together, biting back her fear. Then, the light grew whiter, brighter. So bright it became blinding. Sam covered his face with his arm, burying his eyes in the crook of his elbow. 

He heard a loud thump, followed by a soft squeak from Charlie. Sam opened his eyes.

Castiel was slumped on the couch over a surprised-looking Charlie, whose face was now clean of blood. Two brown eyes blinked back at Sam. 

"I think it worked!" Charlie said, a smile spreading across her pale face. She moved to touch her eye. "It did, my eye is back! Cas, you did it…Cas?" Charlie shook the Templar gently. "Castiel?"

Dean pulled Castiel off of Charlie by his shoulders, leaning him at the other end of the couch and slipping a finger onto his neck to feel for a pulse. Charlie curled her legs in to make room for the unconscious Templar. 

"He's alive." Dean said.

"Well, thank God for that," Sam said, rolling his eyes. 

Dean turned to his brother. "Man, what is your problem?"

"You are my problem, Dean! Since when do you sneak off in the middle of the night, without telling me, and right after Robi died?" 

"Do not bring our Uncle into this." Dean said, narrowing his eyes. 

"Then what about Jo, and Ellen? They needed you there, at the villa. No one has any idea what we should be doing, Dean! You can't just pick up and leave. That's not what Assassins do. That's not what family does."

"That's what our father did." Dean snapped. "Why not follow in good old Dad's footsteps?!" He said, spinning around and grabbing the bottle of alcohol Sam had pulled for Charlie's wounds. He took a swig of it before sitting down in one of the few wooden stools in the room.

On the table where the alcohol had been, Dean had dropped a tiny slip of paper. Sam whisked it up and into his pocket. He would read it later. Dean nodded at him--he had seen Sam retrieve his message. 

"What would Dad think if you he knew you were working with Templars, Dean?!"

"I don't care, Sammy. Maybe I used to care, but I sure as hell don't anymore. 'Dad would want us to do this, Dad would want us to do that.' I'm done with it, Sam."

Sam shook his head. "Do you even hear yourself? You've always been the one running after Dad, kissing his ass---"

"Shut up!" Charlie shrieked, just as Balthazar slid out his dagger and said, "Shut it, both of you!" 

Sam and Dean looked from the girl to the Templar in shock. 

"You idiots are going to wake the whole damn building up, and I'm trying to keep a low profile. Stop fighting like an old married couple of fishmongers, please." Charlie whispered. "Otherwise, Gerald might--"

There was a knock at the door. "Carrie? Everything okay in here? Are those rapscallions giving you trouble?" A shaky voice called. 

"It's all good in here, Gerry." Charlie called. "We'll keep it down."

Gerald mumbled something about "queens and pretty boys" before Sam heard the man's footsteps recede down the hallway. 

"I thought your landlady was Boltarb." Dean said with a grin. 

"Boltar is his Moondor name. It's a role playing game, which I currently am dominating," Charlie said haughtily. "I can tell you about it if you want."

"I'm going for a walk. " Sam mumbled. He gave a curt nod to Balthazar, the only person who seemed slightly sane to Sam, and left the apartment. 

"When the only person whose reactions make sense is a Templar…" Sam muttered, pushing past Boltar, or Gerry, or whatever, and out into the night. He looked east, down the alley, where the sun was just starting to color the dark sky purple. 

"Fuck me," Sam groaned, running a hand through his hair. "What are you doing, Dean?" 

The Assassin felt in his pockets for his brother's note, quickly recognizing the code as one they had been using for years. 

"Going after Michael. You in?" the note read. 

Sam groaned, turning and softly banging his head against the brick wall of the building. No wonder Dean had been in such a hurry to get out of Monterrigionni. The longer he waited, the longer the Templars had to recover from their losses at the siege of the villa.

"You could have at least told me…" Sam muttered, heading down the alley. He had to find the nearest pigeon coop. He should have told me about Castiel's powers, that he was going to leave the city, Sam thought bitterly. 

He walked quickly through the misty city, his long navy robes flapping around his knees. He left without telling me, and he probably did it because he wanted to protect me, Sam realized. He wanted to keep me out of this mission, because it's dangerous. It is really, really stupid. Going after the leader of the Florentine Templars was idiotic. 

"I'll still do it though." Sam muttered. "Because he's all I've got left, I guess."

That sounds a lot like what Castiel said about his sister, Sam thought as he approached a large pigeon coop. 

Most of the carrier birds were dozing inside the birdshit-stained structure, but a few of the pigeons were waking with the dawn. A pink breasted bird cocked its head at Sam from its perch. 

Now it turned out Castiel was some kind of…what, god? A witch? Sam snorted. It was obvious that the Templar had no idea what to do with, or how to really work, his…abilities. 

Abilities which had saved his brother's life. Dean was right. Without Castiel's help, Dean would be a dead man. He had saved his brother's life, probably on multiple occasions. I wonder if Dean has told him that he's going to eviscerate his boss, Sam wondered, as he pulled a piece of parchment and a stick of charcoal from his robe. 

Sam wrote, in a more standard code than the one Dean had used.

"Jo, 

I found him. He was at the riverboat. Already some trouble, nothing we can't handle. Met up with Charlie. Dean was communicating with Castiel. Was this your hunch? Dean is targeting Michael, and is asking for assistance. Please advise. "

Sam stopped, debating whether or not he should tell his cousin about Castiel's healing abilities. 

Fuck it, he thought. 

"Sorry, Jo," Sam said aloud, signing the letter in code before tying the letter off. "But like Dean said, I'm in it now. Like it or not, I'm stuck with him. And if that means I have to put up with some witchcraft, some secrets, and god knows what, so be it."

He looped the note to the pigeon's leg, stroking its breast and murmuring a quiet prayer for the safety of both the bird and the message. It cooed, pecking at his finger, before flapping its wings, lifting it up over the rooftops and out of sight.

Sam made his way back through the city towards Charlie's residence, stopping to pick up a basket of biscuits and muffins on the way.  
"Sorry, Zoltarb," Sam said, picking the lock on the door to the building and making his way silently up the stairs.

"Ah, good. Sustenance." Balthazar said as Sam opened the door, setting the basket of pastries on the table in the main room. Castiel was still out cold, his mouth lolling open stupidly. Sam fought back a laugh. Charlie was attempting to explain the rules of...whatever it was, Moondor, to his brother. 

"Sam, if I were not into girls, I swear, right now, I would totally be on my knees--" Charlie said, foraging through the basket with Balthazar. 

"Ha, wow. It's not that big a deal." Sam said uncomfortably. 

Dean had moved from his stool to lay on the wooden floor, his head cradled in the crook of his arm. He didn't look up at Sam's arrival.  
"Here," Sam said, dropping a honeyed roll unceremoniously on his brother's face. 

"Dammit, Sam." Dean groaned, sitting up and wiping the icing from his nose. "You could have given me some warning." 

Sam nodded, a corner of his mouth turning up as he took Dean's former spot on the stool. "I'm in, Dean." 

Dean took a massive bite, chewing the roll slowly. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah. Even if we have to work with Templars, thieves… whatever. I'm in."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Wow."

Sam chuckled, moving to grab a buttery biscuit. "What?"

"I just thought you would be more difficult. That was astonishingly easy. You're getting to be more of a pushover," Dean said, shoving his brother gently. "Shoulda beaten you more often when we were kids."

"Shut up, jerk."

Dean grinned at his brother. "Bitch"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to rant about the season finale to me, I too am hurt and feel neglected by this season's plot, and would like to bitch about it endlessly. Nothing about that finale made sense to me.


	37. I'll Race You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets real. Action almost happens, that's kinda new. 
> 
> The squad attempts to figure out a plan to take out Michael, and assess the new threat of the Leviathans.
> 
> That's kind of it I don't know this one is kind of long I don't feel like a person anymore.

“Are you sure you won’t stay, Balthazar? I at least owe you some coffee. You did help rescue me, after all.” Charlie said as the Templar prepared to leave her apartment. Dean had passed out on the floor, and was now snoring loudly; Castiel still hadn’t moved from his position on the couch. His mouth still lolled open, and he breathed evenly. A corner of Charlie’s mouth turned up. She knew that she shouldn’t, but she was starting to like the Templar.

These idiots are going to be the death of me, she thought, but I’m resigned to that at this point. Too far in to back out now. They know who I am at this point, and where I live. To get away from these idiots, I’d have to change my name and move to a new city. Again. Damn it.

“Thank you, but I really should be getting back to headquarters, and if I remember correctly, you ended up rescuing me.” Balthazar said, dusting the crumbs from his third muffin off of his palms. “I have to make up some sort of excuse for Castiel’s absence. And there will be questions about Uriel’s death.”

“What are you going to tell them?” Sam said, taking a gulp from the bottle of spiced rum he had pulled from the cabinet to tend to Charlie’s wounds. That was unnecessary now, thanks to Cas.

Balthazar sighed. “At this point, the Leviathan have probably already rendezvoused with Michael. The most I can do is hope that Roman didn’t get a good look at me in that warehouse. God, conspirating with Assassins. If only Mummy could see me now.”

The Templar shook his head, casting a disapproving glance at his comatose brother-in-arms. “I shouldn’t complain. God knows Castiel has stuck his neck out for me before. Saved my ass loads of times. I’m sure it’ll be fine, and Gabriel and I have been on good terms lately. I’ll be able to come up with something.”

Charlie and Sam shared a look, and Sam shrugged. If the rumors Charlie had heard about the Organization were true, they didn’t take kindly to failure, and even less kindly to treachery.

“I just hope you’re a good liar, Balthazar. For all our sakes.” Charlie said, motioning for Sam to pass her the rum.

“Darling, I’m one of the best.” Balthazar said, giving a bow to Charlie and a weak curtsy to Sam.

“Farewell, adversary.” the Templar said to the Assassin. “It has been an honor to run with you this night. Even if your techniques are somewhat inelegant, I did enjoy walking through Florence with a moose. ”

Sam chuckled, dipping his head. “You too, Balthazar. Stay safe out there, amico.”

The door closed behind the Templar, and Charlie sighed. For what felt like the tenth time in an hour. She had little faith in Balthazar, mostly since she had never met the man before this evening. But he had helped to save her from Roman's kidnappers. She owed the Templar, she knew that.

“What the hell are we going to do about them?” Charlie said, nudging Castiel with her foot. The Templar snorted, mumbled something, and closed his mouth.

“What’d he say?” Sam asked with a smile. The Assassin sat with his legs crossed on the floor beside his brother, looking relaxed. It was a pretty good act, and would have fooled most people. But Charlie had learned to look for subtle hints, tells in things like body language and speech. Sam was putting too much of an effort into looking normal.

Charlie waved a hand. “He said something about the end of the world. I’m sure it’s not important. Sam, what the hell are you planning?”

“What do you mean?” Sam said, spreading his grin even wider and furrowing his brow. Charlie bit back a laugh. He was trying so hard, it was kind of sad.

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Really, Sam? Your face is sweating. You either learn to become a better liar, quickly, or start telling me what’s on your mind.”

Sam chuckled, but his shoulders fell. “That bad, huh?”

“Seriously. I’m surprised you’ve made it this far in your line of work.”

“Alright, fine,” Sam said, reaching for the last muffin. “Dean wants to go after Michael.”

“What?!” Charlie whispered frantically. This was worse than she had feared. “Does he realize how suicidal that is?”

Sam shook his head. “He’s right. You saw what he did at Monterrigioni. He’s out of control, and he needs to pay for his crimes.”

“Sam, look me in the eyes and tell me this isn’t about revenge. Tell me Dean isn’t doing this just because of your uncle.”

Sam’s eye twitched, and he met Charlie’s gaze. “Charlie, I can’t tell you that. I want to, but I can't. Robi was like a father to us, more than our own father ever was in some ways. But I know that Michael needs to go down. And that’s good enough for me.”

Charlie sighed, closing her eyes. Both of her eyes...she had resigned herself to being partially blind for the rest of her life. Plenty of thieves she encountered had lost appendages and extra…bits…. throughout their lives, but Charlie had never thought it would happen to her. These boys may have been the reason she was kidnapped and tortured in the first place, but thanks to them, she was now perfectly healed. When Castiel had pressed his palm to her face, she hadn’t really expected to open her eyes. It's not that she thought he was lying about healing his sister or Dean. But it was a bold claim, and Charlie had seen her fair share of treachery. When Castiel had actually managed to fix her eye, Charlie had to fight back tears.

I expected to live the rest of my life partially blind, Charlie thought soberly. Instead, I've walked away from a fight with the Leviathan intact. Hell, I think my carpal tunnel might even be gone, the thief mused, flexing her right wrist. 

She was with them, damn it. They had bled for each other, fought for each other. If these idiots were going to try and take down Michael, she was with them. 

“Okay, fine. I’ll bite. We want to kill Michael. Does Castiel know about this? What about Balthazar?" 

Sam shrugged. "I have no idea."

Charlie scratched her neck. "Can we also, alternatively or additionally, track down Roman?”

Sam smiled, genuinely this time. “That’s not about revenge, is it? Look me in the eyes and tell me--”

“Shut up. Partially. But he’s been running the Leviathan like a ruling class of the thieves guild, with pickpockets and burglars bringing in everything they collect, and then they take a lion’s share of everyone’s score. It’s practically French, Sam. The thieves are too scared of Roman to do anything, though. We need to make some changes.”

“And by changes, you mean sticking a blade in his neck.”

Charlie nodded. “Well, preferably his eye. But yes, that is the idea.”

“...Ngh”

Castiel had shifted, and was now blinking the sleep from his eyes. “What...where...where am I?”

“My apartment,” Charlie said, leaning forward and patting Cas on the leg. “You’re safe, friend.”

Castiel sat up, suddenly awake. “Your eye. Does it…work?”

“Perfectly. This bitch is still gonna be throwing knives, no depth perception problems here.” She said, miming throwing a knife at Sam.

Cas nodded. “Good. How long was I out?”

“Just an hour or two.” Charlie said.

“How are you feeling, Cas? Like yourself?” Sam asked cautiously.

Castiel was quiet for a minute, moving his fingers and arms experimentally. “I think so. At least for now.”

“That’s...not very encouraging.” Charlie mumbled.

Cas groaned as he sat up, narrowing his eyes. “Well, sorry.”

“No, Cas--Thank you. Really. What you did for me, I’ll never really be able to--”

“It was no trouble, Charlie.” Castiel said, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I’m just glad that I could help.”

"Well, there's one biscuit left if you want it." Charlie said, passing the nearly-empty basket to the Templar.

Castiel smiled gratefully. "Does Dean like biscuits? I don't want to take the last one if he hasn't eaten."

Sam shot a look at his snoring brother, who had curled up on his side with his shoulder-cape covering his torso. "He had all the honey rolls before he passed out, Cas. And I bought at least four. I think he's fine."

"In that case.." Castiel mused, proceeding to stuff the biscuit in his mouth. Charlie chuckled.

"I suppose magical healing sort of takes it out of you."

"You have no idea," Cas said, looking at the thief with wide eyes and chewing mechanically. "I'm actually surprised I woke up so quickly. To be honest with you, I'm sort of surprised I'm still sane."

"You expected to lose your mind? For my eye?" Charlie asked, her face a mask of surprise.

Cas smiled ruefully. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Maybe it means you're getting better at it. You know, you've been healing a lot lately."

"…Yeah." Cas mused, finishing off the last bite of the biscuit. "Whether that's good or bad, I don't know."

"We'll figure it out." Charlie said, passing the spiced rum to the Templar.

"Yeah. We've got bigger problems right now, unfortunately." Sam muttered.

"What?" Cas asked. "Is this about the Leviathans?"

"Partially. And partially about Dean wanting to assassinate your fearless leader."

Sam thumped Charlie's shoulder. "Charlie!"

"What? He deserves to know." Charlie said indignantly. Keeping secrets from Castiel seemed like a bad idea. Especially since he was their best resource on the topic of Templars. "We need his help if we're going to pull this off."

"I know you don't exactly trust me, Sam, but Dean told me about his plan. I'm well aware of his idiotic scheme for revenge. Has Balthazar abandoned us?"

“He left an hour ago. Said he was going to stick his neck out for you,” Sam replied. 

Charlie sat forward on the couch. "But you will help us, then?"

Cas gave her a quizzical look before taking a deep breath. "This is suicide. If you all make it out alive, it will be a miracle."

"Miracles seem to be happening a lot lately," Charlie said, patting the Templar's knee with a warm smile.

Cas smiled shakily at Charlie before continuing, "…But I agree that Michael needs to face justice for his crimes. I just wish Dean would let me handle this internally. We could do this the legal way, by trial, judge, and jury. The way the Order is meant to handle injustices such as he has committed. Crimes of war such that he has committed--"

"By killing Robi." Sam interjected.

He nodded. "By killing the Master Assassin of Italia dishonorably. That charge is enough to bring his leadership into question, and then it's only a matter of time before…"

"Before he weasels his way out of it." Charlie said quietly. "Michael has friends in a lot of places, Castiel. And from what I understand about Templars, he is not unpopular among your comrades. To vote him out would be impossible."

Cas closed his mouth.

"You know that, Cas." Charlie said gently.

"Where is the line," Castiel asked slowly, his eyes closed. "Between being a traitor to your family and doing what is right? Between staying true to what you know to be right, and betraying everything you were bred to believe?” 

Castiel put his lips to the bottle of rum, gulping the liquor like it was water. “I may already have crossed that line, but if I help you kill Michael, there is no going back for me."

Sam shook his head. "No other Templar needs to know. You can go on living your life."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "I'll know."

"Know what?" Dean mumbled from the floor.

Sam rolled his eyes, kicking his brother. "Wake up, idiot. You're missing important stuff."

"What, what did I miss? Oh, Cas, you're up. Good to see you among the living," Dean said, struggling to sit up.

The crease between Castiel's eyes softened, and he took another sip from the rum bottle he had been gripping tightly. "I could say the same to you. Do you normally snore like a machine?"

"What, I don't snore. Sam, Charlie, back me up on this." Dean said, his green eyes flicking from his brother to the thief.

"Uh…" Sam said, while Charlie focused on twirling her hair pointedly.

"What were we talking about, anyway?" Dean asked.

"Killing my boss, " Castiel said, his jaw set. "Which we are doing tonight."

 

\-------------------

They left Charlie's building just after the sun went down, walking quickly through the streets of Florence. Dean gave a cursory look at the rooftops above them: they would be approaching the Santa Carlotta via the ochre-tiled roofs of the city. It had been so long since he had run across these buildings…when he and Sam were training, they used to race each other from one side of the city to another. The races were good for agility, and helped keep the boy killers sharp. Ellen had hated it, thinking the boys would surely fall and break their legs, and what good would two crippled young Assassins be?

Of course, they did it anyway. And Dean only let Sam win half the time. The elder brother had always been the better climber, while Sam got the sixth sense. 

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Charlie whispered. "Maybe we should wait, plan this out, do some reconnaissance before we, oh, I don't know, try and kill the leader of the Templar Order?"

Cas shook his head. "The longer we wait, the more time Michael has to marshal his forces. Same with Roman. We have to strike quickly."

Dean nodded, looking over at his brother. Sam had been quiet, but he wasn't outright objecting to Cas' plan. The tall Assassin was eyeing a few obvious handholds along the side of the wall the three had stopped at.

Charlie sighed. "Yeah. I get it. But something about this feels…off. I don't know." Charlie had ditched her bloody bar maid's shift for her burglar suit, with head-to toe black fabric hiding the thief in the evening's shadows.

"He needs to die, Charlie. I'm not waiting around any more." Dean said, pushing past his brother and climbing up the side of the wall. 

"I want revenge too, Dean." Charlie said, following close behind the Assassin, digging her hooked blade into crevices and cracks in between the bricks to pull her body up. She almost beat Dean to the roof, with Sam and Castiel following behind them. "You think I'm okay with what that Leviathan did to me?"

Dean rounded on the thief, rage burning his vision red.

"The difference is that you have your eye back, Charlie! My uncle is dead." He regretted the words as soon as they left his tongue. "Wait, Charlie…that's not what I--"

Charlie narrowed her eyes. "Everybody's got dead people, Dean. That's no excuse to act like an asshole to your friends who are still alive."

The thief took off in the direction of the church, leaping across rooftops and disappearing from sight. Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Son of a bitch." He mumbled. 

He heard the scramble of Cas and Sam pushing themselves to their feet.

"Where's…Dean what did you do?" Sam said, coming to stand next to his brother.

Dean groaned. "I said some shit I shouldn't have."

Castiel rolled his eyes. "What else is new?"

"I'll apologize to her when we're done. We need to move." Dean said, shaking his head as if he could rid himself of his racing thoughts with a turn of his neck. Charlie, Michael, Roman, Sam, Cas…it was all getting complicated.

Time to simplify, he thought, as he ran after Charlie, launching himself into the cool night air.

The three men leapt across the roofs of Firenze, chasing each other through the darkening sky. Dean focused on only two things: where he was putting his feet next, and his target. This was just like any other mission: observe, infiltrate, kill. That was all he needed to think about. Everything else could wait. He was dimly aware of Cas and Sam following close behind him. Far ahead of him, the Assassin could just barely detect a stirring in the shadows: Charlie. 

He could probably have caught up to her if he had wanted. Instead, he followed her at a normal pace, keeping the thief in his line of sight, and his brother and friend within earshot. 

Dean caught up to Charlie atop a roof bordering the plaza across from the dilapidated church. Cas and Sam stopped behind them, breathing heavily. Charlie showed no sign of exhaustion, though the run had probably taken a toll on the thief. 

“Look, Charlie, I didn’t mean…” Dean started. 

The redhead held up a gloved hand. “It’s okay, Dean. I know how it is, to lose someone.”

“Oh. Uh, do you...do you want to talk about it, or, uh...expound upon that…?”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, pulling a layer of fabric up to cover her mouth and nose, like a cowl. “No. Not particularly.”

Dean nodded. “Great, good talk.”   
“Did we miss anything?” Sam asked, clapping his brother on the back. 

Charlie shrugged. “Just more repressed emotions. Nothing new there. There are two archers, one near the steeple and one just across the square, near that rooftop garden. See?” Charlie said, pointing. Dean narrowed his eyes. He could just make out a dark form leaning against a ledge on the steeple, and another patrolling in a dry-looking garden across the square. 

“Sam, you got anything else?” Dean asked his brother. 

Sam stepped forward, taking in the square around them. His shoulders tensed as he absorbed information from the city around him: scents, sounds, sights, essences, all blending together to form a complete image of the way things really were, not simply how they appeared.

I can’t believe I was ever jealous of Sam for that, Dean thought. The concept of adding another sense seemed idiotic now: he could barely handle reacting to normal stimuli. Add in the awareness of another sense that could be turned off and on…

“Shockingly, yes. Those two are all that I can sense outside. Looks like we kind of put a dent in their number at the villa, I guess.”

Cas shook his head. “That’s not it. It’s probably hard to distinguish them from each other because they’re all in the same room. It’s the weekly congress, at the rear of the cathedral, second floor. They’re discussing things, making plans while they feast.”

“The world’s most twisted family dinner,” Dean said with a grin. Cas’ eyebrows creased and he gave Dean a look. “Whatever. We got an idea of where the Big Bads are?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “I think...Roman is in the top of the Chruch.”

Castiel nodded. “Gabriel’s quarters. Is Michael there?”

“I don’t think so. It’s hard to tell. There are a lot of Templars in that church. I...I think that’s him, in with the rest of them, the convocation or feast or whatever.”

“Okay. They’re...in different places. So what, we hit them one after another, or split up?” Charlie said, twirling her weapon anxiously. 

Dean took a deep breath to answer, just as Cas replied. “We need to stick together.”

“I disagree, I think we need to hit them both at the same time.” Dean said, standing up a bit straighter. 

Cas tilted his head, licking his lips. “Dean, that’s...really stupid. If we get separated in there, who knows what could happen. We have no way of communicating with each other, and we are weaker divided.”

“We’d be able to act more quickly and more efficiently if we move in teams. It’s cleaner, and there’s less chance of detection. Come on. Sam, Charlie, you’re with me on this, right?” Dean asked, his eyes flicking between the two, who were beginning to look uncomfortable. 

“I’m with Dean on this one.” Sam said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Cas looked at Sam with an exasperated expression, to which Sam shrugged. 

“You’re not serious, Sam.” Castiel said. 

Charlie shook her head, glaring at Dean out of the corner of an eye. “I couldn’t care less, as long as I get to take out Roman’s peepers.” Mischief sparkled in her brown eyes. “Lover’s quarrels aren’t something I’m interested in getting involved in.”

Dean blinked and looked away, not dignifying that comment with a response. 

“Fine, then. We’re going with my plan. I don’t really want you in a room with Michael anyway, Cas.”

Castiel bristled. “You doubt that I’d do what needed to be done.”

Dean clenched his teeth. “That’s not what I said.”

Cas stepped forward, into Dean’s very important personal space, his eyes burning with rage. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to step back, to shrink before Castiel. “Look, Assassin. I pulled you out of more than one prison, and I can throw you right back in. I am the authority here, and you should show me some respect. I--”

“Can we do this later, Cas?” Charlie said, tugging on the Templar’s sleeve. “We’re on the clock.” With that, Charlie pointed her blade at the guard patrolling the rooftop. “I’ll take that one, then go after Roman. Are you with me, oh mighty and powerful Templar Knight?”

“Fine,” the Templar grumbled, burning Dean with a look. “And stay safe, both of you.” His blue eyes flashed from Dean to Sam. “If you get yourselves killed, I will heal you just so that I can kill you myself.”

Sam leaned towards Dean as Charlie and Cas made their way down towards their target. “You think he can do that?”

Dean shook his head. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Are we doing this or what?” 

“Yeah, we are.” Sam said. 

Dean grinned, clapping his brother on the back. “Race you to the top?” 

Sam laughed, a real, genuine laugh. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he had heard his brother laugh like that. 

“Yeah. I sure hope they’ve reinforced that bell tower. And don’t let me win this time, okay?”

“Cazzo. You knew I did that?” Dean said, pulling his hood up.

“Yeah. You weren’t a very subtle teenager.” Sam said, shaking his head. 

Dean clapped a hand to his chest. “What is this blasphemy?”

“Shut up and run.” Sam said, leaping off of the building.

Dean nodded, following his brother over the side of the building and into the night.


	38. An Eye for an Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Charlie go after the leader of the thieves guild elite, Riccardo Roman.

Castiel grimaced as he followed the black-clad thief across the square. “It’s kind of hard to see where you are when you’re dressed like that, Charlie,” he mumbled.

“That’s the idea.” Charlie said over her shoulder, weaving through the cluster of stalls and shops that crowded the marketplace. Most of the shutters were pulled down over counters, the neighborhood being a quiet one. Commerce happened during the daylight hours in this part of the city. Many Templars frequented these bakeries, produce stands, and general goods sellers. Balthazar had even managed to woo one of the girls who sold the dark, caffeinated drink called coffee on the corner. The two Templars had spent more money than was healthy at the cafe. He may have had a slightly unhealthy addiction to the substance, while Balthazar was only interested in the busty blonde behind the counter. 

The coffee shop was closed now, no scent of the freshly ground beans tempting Castiel to spend his florins at this time of evening. Charlie ran around the corner of the cafe, circling around to the back of the building, Castiel running alongside her. The Templar lookout the thief had spotted was patrolling the garden atop the cafe.  
Charlie came to a stop around the back of the cafe, motioning for Castiel to follow her up a ladder leaning against the side of the wall. 

“Wait,” Castiel whispered, holding a hand out. “I know you owe the Templars no love, but let me take care of this one. I won’t kill him, I’ll just knock him out.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, her face mostly hidden by her cowl. “You know this grunt personally?” 

“Not personally,” Cas said with a shake of his head, offering no other explanation. 

“Fine. But if you cock it up, I’m ending her.” Charlie said, twirling her strange weapon. 

He nodded, pulling himself up the ladder quietly, peering over the edge of the tiled roof. 

The garden was hedged with tall rose bushes, white, yellow, and red. In the center of the garden, the Templar stood, her back to Castiel, a thinly bound book in her hand. By her stature, Castiel would have guessed she was young, barely an adult. Cas read the gold lettering on the side of the book: Dante’s DIvine Comedy. 

Castiel pulled himself to his feet, careful not to catch his toes on any of the loose tiles. Pulling his blade from inside his robe with a nearly inaudible swish. 

The girl’s body tensed, and she turned around. Castiel held his breath and ducked behind a rose bush, biting back a curse and praying that the Templar hadn’t seen him. He heard a few footsteps as the girl approached him, stopping on the other side of the hedge. Cas swallowed, turning his blade around in his hand. 

“Hello? Is there someone--”

Castiel shot up from the ground, covering the girl’s mouth with one hand, fear and desperation bubbling up frantically within him. More than anything, he didn’t want to kill this girl, his sister in arms. Unthinking, he moved his right hand, which still clutched his blade, to her face, pressing his forefinger to the girl’s temple. 

Sleep, he thought, strongly. I need you asleep. 

His emotions bubbled up within him, a heat that traveled along his arm and flowed down through his fingers. Though there was no white light to signal it, he knew this power was linked to the voice within him. 

Looks like that’s new, the voice whispered from within him, as the Templar scout’s eyes fluttered shut. The girl slumped to the ground, her book flopping out of her hand. Cas stepped back, clutching his hand as if he had been burnt. 

“What did I…” Castiel mused aloud, as he silently repressed the voice’s commentary. I have no time for you, whatever you are, he told it, so leave me be. 

“Subtle.” Charlie said from behind him. “You ever done that before?”

Castiel shook his head, kneeling down to examine the girl’s body. “That...that was new for me.”

“I don’t know what you are Cas, but your powers are starting to become really useful.” Charlie said, patting the Templar on the back. “As long as she’s out cold, we can move on,” the thief said, twirling her blade. “She’s...not dead, is she?”

Cas pressed a finger to the scout’s wrist, relieved to find a slow, steady pulse. “She’s fine. I was thinking that I wanted her unconscious, not dead. It seems like a lot of...whatever this is...is involved with intention.”

“You mean to say that if you wanted her dead, you could kill her with a touch?”

Cas shook his head. “I...I don’t know. Maybe.”

Charlie nodded, hooking her weapon to her belt. “Well, I guess it’s just another thing we can worry about later. That, Dean’s rampant alcoholism, Sam’s trust issues…” 

If you wanted her dead, I’d have killed her, the voice whispered, drowning out Charlie. There’s so much potential when we both want to do something, Castiel. Last time you let me have control, all we did was get you a bit of action with Dean. You have no idea what we’d be able to accomplish, the kind of power we’d have, if you’d just let me... 

“I don’t want to accomplish anything!” Cas blurted, spinning away from a shocked Charlie and hurling himself down the ladder, out of the alley, and across the square. “Leave me alone,” He spat at the voice, shoving it down inside himself. “Leave me!”

“Cas. Castiel” Charlie called, running along behind the Templar as he approached the cathedral’s stone fence. 

“What the hell was that?” She asked, stopping him outside the iron gate. 

Leaning a shoulder against the high wall rimming the courtyard, Cas closed his eyes. “When I do something like that, or heal, or whatever, sometimes I hear this voice, talking to me. I think it’s the source of all this. It’s like there’s...another person, inside of me. And it’s been acting up a lot more lately. The more I use my abilities, the louder it gets.”

“Is that all it does, then? Talk?” 

Cas’ eyes flicked open, and he walked over to the gate, pulling a rusty key from one of the pockets of his robes. “Mostly. But last night, while I was drunk, outside the riverboat, it possessed me.”

 

“Possessed you? Like, possessed you possessed you? Demonic possession, that kind of thing?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” Cas grumbled, pushing open the gate and leading the thief towards the heavy wooden doors of the cathedral. “How am I supposed to know? Like I have a benchmark for types of possession.”

“Well, what did it do? With your body, I guess” Charlie said, stepping forward to pick the lock on the great doors. 

Castiel felt his cheeks burning, and was glad for the cover of the dark night. 

“It, uh, well, Dean and I were outside, and it was very dark, and all of a sudden I wasn’t me anymore. I was aware of what was happening, like I was a spectator or something. But I had no control over what was going on. All I could do was watch, while he, er, I--” He stuttered. 

“Out with it, damn it. We don’t have all night.” Charlie hissed, popping one of the doors open. 

Cas’ shoulders drooped and he mumbled, “I kissed him okay? Well, it kissed him, I guess. The demon, or whatever the hell it is.”

I’m not a demon, the voice grumbled from deep within him, as Charlie spun around to face Castiel with wide eyes. Beneath her cowl, her hidden smile pulled at the fine lines of her face.

“You did it? You kissed him?!” She asked, her voice frantic and excited. 

The thief crossed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around Castiel in a quick and tight hug. Castiel stood there awkwardly for a moment before attempting to hug her back, but by that time she had already pulled away and was staring at him, her eyes sparkling.

“Cas, that’s great!”

“Charlie, I was possessed by something we don’t understand, and it made me do something i didn’t choose to do. I fail to see how that is great.” he grumbled.

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Cas. You didn’t choose to do it, but it’s not something you wouldn’t have done, given the chance. I see the way you look at him. God, you practically undress him with your eyes. It’s almost disgusting to watch.”

Castiel cringed involuntarily, pushing past Charlie and into the empty cathedral. Shattered glass coated the floor in some places, while a few stained-glass figures frowned down at the two intruders suspiciously. 

“What did Dean say?” Charlie whispered, jogging to catch up with the Templar’s stride. 

“Should we really do this now?” Castiel mumbled. “We’re kind of in the middle of something. Your revenge mission, actually.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, shaking her head and stepping in front of him, blocking his path. “Uh, this might be more important, or like, the same amount of important. What did he say? What did he do?”

“Well, uh, at first he kind of tried to kill me,” Csa said, recalling the experience of feeling his mouth on Dean’s. “He thought I was trying to strangle him I think. But then...he kind of, uh..” 

“What?” Charlie said impatiently. 

“...Reciprocated.” Castiel sighed, ducking his head and pushing past the thief. He pushed open the door to the rear section of the church, spotting the spiral staircase that led to Gabriel’s quarters. Neither of the usual guards were posted at the base of the staircase.

“You mean he kissed you back?!” Charlie whispered fiercely. 

“That’s weird. There are normally guards here,” Castiel murmured, before turning to Charlie. The thief was leaning against the door, a smug look on her face “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” The thief said, sauntering past him and starting up the stairs. “I’d just like to thank this whatever-it-is for finally making a move. Lord knows you two idiots wouldn’t.”

Castiel cocked his head involuntarily. “Look, it is crazy to think that Dean and I would...that we would ever...I mean, he’s an…”

Charlie leaned over the rail, peering down at Cas with a fierce look in her eyes. “He’s what? An Assassin? A man? An asshole?”

“Yes.” Castiel said, exasperation clouding his mind. “All of those things.”

“And you love him anyway. Get over it.” Charlie called down to him, proceeding up the stairs. 

Oh, I like her, the voice murmured as Cas followed Charlie. She’s very direct. Why couldn’t I get stuck inside her, and not you? Everything she says about your dismal love life makes sense. 

“It’s not that simple,” Castiel grunted, his breathing becoming more and more labored as he approached the top of the staircase “I don’t even think Dean likes men.”

Who says that you are man, and not a god? The voice whispered, as its presence receded. For you and I are one, and I am like a god. Since the dawn of humanity, all men have worshipped gods. This man will be no different. 

Cas stopped before Gabriel’s door to catch his breath, clearing his mind with a few deep breaths. Roman is in there, Cas thought. The target is behind that door. That is all I need to focus on. Not Dean, or this damned voice, or gods, demons, whatever...just the target. 

Charlie stood with her hand on the door knob, not looking at Castiel. 

“Are you ready?” She asked. 

He nodded, and the thief kicked the door open. 

Inside Gabriel's familiar quarters, Roman lounged behind the Templar's desk. The two guards who should have been patrolling the base of the spiral staircase stood behind the Leviathan, expressionless. 

"Well, look who it is!" Roman said, leaning back in Gabriel's chair as the Templar had often done, fixing Charlie and Castiel with an amused smile. "I'm just kidding. I have no idea who you people are. I suppose you're here to kill me, though. Unfortunately for you, I don't plan on dying."

Castiel stepped forward. "What have you done with Gabriel?"

Roman raised an eyebrow, pouring himself a glass of wine from a bottle he fished from beneath the desk. "Nothing. I was supposed to meet with him in a few minutes. I assumed he sent you here to kill me, but apparently that's not the case. Who do you work for, then, the guarda? I thought I paid Crowli off last week, the prick." 

Roman gestured to the two burly Templar's standing at attention behind him. "As you can see, monetary incentives can form some of the greatest partnerships, among even the most unlikely of parties." 

His eyes narrowed as he fixed his gaze on Castiel with an unsettling smile. "But you'd know all about that, right, Castiel? Word around town says unlikely partnerships seem to be your forte lately. What is it that they're promising you, hm? Is it gold, or perhaps glory? 

"I don't have to justify myself to a thief and a pair of traitors," Castiel growled. The two Templar defectors didn't acknowledge his words, keeping their hands on the hilts of their sheathed weapons.

Roman shook his head. "Pot, meet kettle."

"We don't work for anyone," Charlie said, pulling her cowl down and her hood back. Roman's eyes widened in recognition.

"Well, this sure is unexpected. I thought I taught you what happened when you meddled with the big boys, street thief. How's the eye?"

Charlie pulled her hair back, revealing her intact left eye. Roman paled, and Cas saw the Leviathan swallow nervously.

"That's impossible."

"I don't work for you anymore, Roman. None of the thieves should, that's not what the Guild was meant to be. It's meant to be a resource, a network, a brotherhood for thieves throughout Firenze who have no one else to turn to, not another thing to be afraid of. The fear ends now." Charlie said boldly, flipping her weapon around in her hand. 

Roman motioned to his Templar guards, and the two muscled men drew their weapons, stepping around the desk and standing between Charlie and Roman. The Leviathan folded his hands, a smug look on his face, his flash of fear gone. "So what, you just bust in here, kill me, institute a new world order, just like that? You can't really be naive enough to think that would work, that you can change the structure of the Guild with one murder." 

Charlie grinned, settling into a fighting stance. "Who said anything about revolution? I just want revenge."

"Kill them both," Roman said, with a sip from his wine glass.

One of the massive men approached Castiel, while the other moves towards Charlie. Cas held out his hand, stepping backwards towards the door. 

"Brother, please," Cas said. "Stop this madness."

"You are no brother of mine, Castiel." The Templar said as he struck quickly, his silver blade flashing in the lamplight. Cas dodged around it, turning his body reflexively to slide along the blade towards the Templar.

Cas twisted the blade out of the Templar's hand with one hand, slamming two fingers into the man’s forehead without thought. Hot power flowed from his core down his arm, and his eyes widened as the man crumpled to the floor. 

Cas looked up from his unconscious enemy, thinking, “I didn’t even have to think about making him unconscious that time. It was...reflexive.” 

Charlie was holding her own against the other Templar mercenary, parrying his every strike, while Roman had left his position behind the desk, and was quickly making his way towards the only window in the tower. He looked over his shoulder, his face a mask of purpose and malice. Cas stepped over the unconscious Templar, heading towards the dueling thief and the Templar. They hadn’t come this far just to let Roman escape unscathed. 

Cas ducked between Charlie and the Templar, calling over his shoulder. “Get Roman! Go.”

Charlie nodded, dashing out of Castiel’s line of sight. “You’re not getting away that easy, asshole.” 

Look alive, the voice said suddenly, as a fist collided with his jaw. He fell backwards onto the floor, stunned by the pain coursing through the right side of his face. 

Get up, idiot! The voice said. Cas rolled out of the way as the templar brought his blade down, burying it in the floor where Cas had just been. Pain is for the weak, the voice said. You are in the midst of battle. 

“Fine,” Cas groaned, pushing himself to his knees and throwing himself at the Templar. The man struggled as the two pitched backwards, scrambling across the floor in a tangle of limbs and blades.  
The Templar knelt on Cas’ chest, pulling back a fist. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Cas groaned. The Templar didn’t respond, instead slamming his fist into Castiel’s face once, twice, three times. His gaze blurred as he fought to remain consciousness. The templar brought his fist back down again, and again, and again…

That’s it, the voice said. I won’t watch you get hit any longer. 

The same raw energy, familiar now, suffused every limb in Castiel’s body, and as the Templar above him grabbed his blade from the ground beside them, Castiel felt himself float inside the empty space of his mind, experiencing the world around him as if he were watching it through a wall of water. 

“Thank you.” the voice said, both inside his mind and externally, using Castiel’s mouth. 

Cas was no longer in control of whatever he did, for better or for worse. 

He watched his hand reach up, grabbing the Templar’s arm and twisting it, heard the sickening crunch as the bones in the man’s arm crunched. The Templar growled as Cas watched whatever was piloting his limbs slam the Templar into the floor by his broken arm, shaking the wooden floor. 

Castiel felt his body roll to its feet, before kneeling beside the man who had curled his body protectively around his broken arm. The Templar looked up at him with hate etched in every line on his piggish face. "Do it, if you've got the stones."

His fingers moved to the man's forehead, power radiating through his palm. The heat flooded into the man's head, and the Templar's face contorted in pain.

Cas felt his head cock as the voice said, "Funnily enough, I don't." 

The man's knees buckled as he fell to the floor, dead.

You killed him, Cas thought sluggishly. He watched his fingers move to his own head as the voice healed his broken nose and face, bruised from the dead Templar's knuckles. After a flash of white light, the pain faded. Cas sank deeper and deeper from awareness, struggling to maintain consciousness.

"Shockingly enough, Castiel, you are a killer. I just did what your body wanted to do." The voice said, flexing Cas' fingers. 

"This is for the guild" Cas heard Charlie say, as a strangled scream came from the window Roman had been attempting to escape out of. Castiel felt his body spin, watched Charlie swing her hooked weapon down, slicing off the Leviathan's hand with a single stroke. 

Roman stumbled back away from the window, his back towards Castiel. He clutched his forearm, blood spurting from the sleeve of his puffed white shirt. “You...You can’t kill me. DId you really think that I would die that easy?” The leviathan said through gritted teeth. He pulled a short sword from his belt, blood dripping from his fingers, and tensed, ready to lunge at Charlie. 

Cas felt his legs move, stepping forward, felt his hands grip the Leviathan’s head. “Not really. Certainly is convenient though.” the voice said. 

Cas felt whatever was controlling him nod his head at Charlie, who held her weapon at the ready, blood dripping from the curved end. “Are you familiar with Hammurabbi, Roman?” She asked calmly. 

“An eye for an eye.” The Leviathan spat, with an unhinged laugh. “So take it.”

Charlie swung her blade back, then whipped it forward, burying it in Roman’s eye socket. Roman’s head jerked in Castiel’s hands. 

“You...you can’t kill me. You’re not supposed to kill me…” The Leviathan gurgled, choking on his own blood. 

Charlie put a foot on Roman’s chest, yanking the curved blade out of his head. “That sucks for you,” the thief said. Roman fell to the ground, twitched, and stopped moving. 

“Sorry, that wasn’t very nice. I suppose I could have just cut out his eye.” Charlie said, slowing her frantic breathing. “The guild will be better off without him, I suppose.”

The voice said, with a shake of Cas’ head, “Mercy is for the weak.”

Charlie frowned, narrowing her eyes. “...Cas? Are you…?”

She was interrupted by the sound of the door behind them slamming open, and Balthazar and Gabriel smashed into the room, weapons drawn.

“Castiel, we’ve got to get out of here. Michael wants you dead.” Gabriel said, gasping from the run up the stairs. 

 

The Templar looked from the bodies on the floor, to Charlie, to Castiel, standing over Roman’s bleeding corpse. 

“Oh, fuck me.” Gabriel shouted.


	39. For The Weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IM POSTING A TINY CHAPTER TONIGHT even tho i already posted because i realized i should have ended the last chapter a teeny bit later than i actually did so i wrOTE MOAR HA HA ha i am die.
> 
> In which Cas is not cas, and i am now cry.

She had done it. Charlie had killed the leader of the Leviathans. Riccardo Roman was dead at her feet, face-down in a pool of his own blood. 

Charlie had made a lot of friends over at the Sunken Riverboat quietly cursing the practices of the Leviathans, their taxes, their medieval practices. They would all be thrilled at the news of Roman’s death. But the rest of the Leviathan court would be in a state of disarray with the power vacuum she had just created by executing Roman. Charlie had made many enemies today. 

Charlie flicked Roman’s blood from her blade, eyeing the two newcomers with suspicion.Balthazar she recognized, as she watched him cross the room and wrap Castiel in a hug. Cas didn’t hug him back, his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides. 

“Castiel, are you hurt?” Balthazar said, pulling back and gripping the dark-haired Templar’s shoulders. 

“I’ve never been better.” Cas said with a wide grin. His voice sounded...off, somehow brighter and more gravelly than before. 

Charlie’s eyes narrowed as she began to understand what had happened to Castiel. “Wait a second…”

“We need to get out of here,” said the shorter Templar, a man Charlie had never seen before. “Looks like you’ve annihilated one of the allies to the Order. Which means that you might be considered slightly more of a traitor than you were before, somehow.”

Charlie stepped forward. “I killed him, not Cas. He isn’t guilty for Roman’s death.”

The long haired, short templar moved behind his desk swiftly, grabbing at random items on the desk and shoving them in canvas bags. “Oh, we’re not mad. Damn, I’m glad he’s dead. Save me the trouble. I poisoned the wine, for fuck’s sake. He was waiting for an audience with me, and I knew the prick would want to steal my damn liquor. The nerve of some people.” He said, shaking his head. 

“You...poisoned him.” Charlie said, waving to Balthazar weakly. “So he was already dying?”

“I was going to duck in and finish him off. Apparently Gabriel has been planning on taking him out for months.” Balthazar said, stepping around the bleeding corpses. “We’re making a run for it. Florence has gone to hell...again. It’s good to see you, Charlie.”

“You’re...running. You’re running away from the Templar Order?” Charlie said, blinking in surprise. 

The shorter Templar grinned, his eyes flashing. They were brown, but caught the lamplight and reflected rays of gold and brass, suffused in the clearest honey. “Not running from, sweetheart. Running to. We’re jumping from one ship to another.Michael has become a bit of an overzealous captain.”

“You’re fleeing to a different city, but you still want to be with the Templar Order.” Charlie said.

“Fleeing is such a strong word. Try something more like, ‘relocating’.” the honey-eyed Templar said, tying off the canvas bags. 

Balthazar snorted. “Relocating under the cover of night, and without telling anyone where we’re going or what we’re doing on pain of dying at the end of one of our brother’s blades? That sound about right?” he asked, leaning towards Gabriel. 

“I can’t believe I have to travel across the damn country with you,” Gabriel mumbled. “You’re almost as bad as me.” 

“Oh, shut up.” Balthazar said, rolling his eyes before sobering, fixing Castiel with a serious gaze. “Castiel, you need to come with us. Michael is tired of your disobedience, and he’s put a bounty on your head. He wants you brought to justice. We’re leaving the city. I know you won’t want to leave, what with all the new friends you’ve made lately,” he gestured to Charlie, “But for once in your life, please think about something with your brain, and not with your damn heart. And if you’re not convinced--”

Castiel held up a hand to stop him. “I’m on board. When do we go?”

“What? No, Cas, what the hell? Who knows where they're even going?” Charlie shouted. 

“We..we need to leave now. Gabriel and I have three horses in the courtyard. We were hoping we’d catch you.” Balthazar said, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you would take a lot more convincing, the way you’ve been chasing after that..”

Cas shook his head. “That isn’t necessary. We should leave immediately.”

Gabriel and Balthazar made for the door, Castiel following them without a glance back at Charlie. Charlie shook her head, bewildered. This wasn’t anything like the Cas she knew, the Templar who had fought desperately to negotiate for peace at Monterrigioni, the same Cas that had healed her, a thief he barely knew, when he didn’t have to. This wasn’t the same man that had just confessed his feelings for another on the spiral staircase outside, following her into a battle he shouldn’t have been involved in. 

She clenched her fists. “Cas, no! What are you even thinking? What about your friends?”

Cas stopped, turning and fixing Charlie with a grin that sent shivers down her spine. “I don’t have any friends. Friends are for the weak.”

Charlie’s jaw dropped as she realized with a jolt that Cas was being fully controlled by whatever thing had forced him to kiss Dean. The Templar shrugged comically, his shoulders rising all the way up to his ears as he spun to follow Balthazar and Gabriel out the door.

Charlie bit back a scream. “Cas, I know you’re in there. What about Dean?” 

Castiel stopped, his hand on the wooden door, poised to swing it shut behind him.

“You can’t just leave him!” Charlie cried, her chest heaving. “He needs you.”

Cas’ head turned, and his icy blue eyes met Charlie’s. For a moment, Charlie thought she saw a flash of fear in those blue eyes, a glimmer of pain pulling at his mouth, as if some part of him was trying to speak, but couldn’t quite manage to move the muscles. But it was gone as soon as she noticed it, replaced with a violent emptiness that she could only describe as inhuman.

“Cas isn’t here right now. He’s...he’s gone. For now, at least.” Not-Cas said, closing the door behind him swiftly. 

Charlie ran a hand through her hair, falling to her knees. “What...the...actual…”  
The sound of the three Templar’s footsteps receded down the staircase, and Charlie closed her eyes. 

“...Fuck, Cas?”


	40. Angel of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam go after Michael; this chapter begins a little bit after the last one, so Charlie and Cas are off taking down Roman during the majority of this chapter.

"We don’t both need to climb the damn church, Sam. There’s only one guard.” Dean said with a shrug. 

Sam ground his teeth together. This was the steeple that Cas had said his sister, Anna, had fallen from. The one that had nearly killed her, that would have ended her life if not for Castiel. He didn’t want his brother going up there alone, wouldn’t have wanted Dean to scale the unstable spire even if there weren’t Templar guards patrolling the balconies. 

“Yeah, one guard that we can see.”

“You can stand watch on the roof if you’re so nervous. Maybe the pigeons up there will adopt you as one of their own.” Dean said, tightening the straps on his new wrist-gun. 

“Dean--” Sam said, reaching for his brother’s shoulder.

His brother turned his head, stopping him with an icy look. “You’re not going up there. End of story.”

With that, Dean turned, making his way down from the roof of the building across the plaza from the Santa Carlotta. Sam followed him with an internal groan. Charlie and Castiel had left them a while ago to go take out a guard across the plaza, while Sam and Dean had spent the past ten minutes trying to fix a jam in Dean’s wrist-gun. The firearm’s construction was fairly reliable, requiring only a modest amount of cursing and fiddling to prime the gun with the six lead balls that spelled death for a few unlucky souls. 

Sam followed Dean across the plaza, quickly leaping over the stone fence and into the grassy courtyard of the church. 

“No place like prison,” Dean murmured over his shoulder. 

Sam didn’t respond, eyeing the now familiar courtyard with suspicion. The cypress-lined garden was centered around a tall stone statue of the Virgin Mary. She looked down at the boys with blank eyes, her face gentle and soft. The garden hadn’t changed since Sam and Charlie had last infiltrated it. 

Dean stopped at the statue, gazing at the neat lawn and olive trees with a hint of something like tenderness in his eyes. Was that longing?  
Sam caught sight of something shifting in the Cathedral’s s steeple, in a tiny porthole-window far above the courtyard. 

Sam gripped Dean’s shoulder. “Quit watching the grass grow. There. He’s moving, see?”

Dean nodded, any trace of softness gone from his face. He made his way over to the side of the stony wall of the Santa Carlotta, intent on his target. Sam followed him at a distance, climbing the stone wall easily and settling into position on the north-east corner of the roof that arched over the nave of the church. Some of the tile had fallen through in places, leaving gaping holes big enough for two men to fall through easily. 

From his position on the roof, Sam had a clear view of his brother’s path up the side of the stone spire, which was slightly set back in the face of the building. The structure was more wood and air in places than stone, and Sam forced his heart not to race as he watched Dean leap from handhold to handhold, his muscles bunching and extending with each movement. His brother could handle this, it was stupid to worry about him. But he couldn’t help but picture Castiel’s pained expression when he spoke of the sister that no longer remembered him, the only family that he had ever known, all because of an unfortunate fall. 

Sam’s eye caught on two figures making their way over the stone fence, one barely distinguishable from the dark around them and one standing out against the shadows in his sleeveless tan robes. Charlie and Castiel snuck across the courtyard, beelining for the front doors of the church. 

“Ho! You there!” called a voice from above them. Sam swiveled his head in the direction of the voice, spotting the Templar guard leaning his body halfway out the window of the steeple. His face was red as he spat at the intruders in the courtyard, but the wind howled high in the rafters of the old church, and they showed no sign of hearing him, stopping to pick the lock at the massive doors. The Templar reached for his belt, grabbing what looked like a long, thin whistle from his pocket. 

“Stop, I order you!”

As the Templar raised the whistle to his lips, Sam saw the shadow of his brother curl around the steeple, grabbing the Templar’s thick neck with one hand. Dean twisted his wrist, shooting his hidden blade into the man’s neck, pausing as the man shuddered, his throat and lungs filling with blood. Dean shoved the dying man away from him, catching the whistle with one hand as the Templar fell backwards onto the thin floor of the balcony. He hung there for a moment, one hand gripping the circular windowsill and the other holding the whistle, peering down at the courtyard below him. 

Cas and Charlie had just managed to pop the lock on the door, slipping inside the church 

Dean tightened his fist, snapping the whistle in half and pitching the broken pieces over his shoulder before pulling himself up and into the steeple’s open window. 

Sam shook his head, his shoulders drooping in relief. If Dean hadn’t been right where he was when that Templar Scout had spotted them…Sam rubbed his eyes. This was above his pay grade. 

A loud trill broke the stillness around him, and Sam opened his eyes to see a familiar rosy-breasted bird alight on the roof before him, a little roll of parchment tied to its leg. 

“Well, aren’t you talented,” Sam murmured, pulling the note from the pigeon’s leg. “You knew right where I was, didn’t you?”

The bird cocked its head at Sam as the Assassin opened the note, reading Jo’s familiar code quickly. 

Dean approached from the towering steeple, dropping to the roof and making his way towards his brother, grumbling. 

“Those idiots almost got themselves killed.” 

He spotted the pigeon and pulled a crust of bread from the pocket of his robes, breaking it up between his fingers for the bird with a grin. “I know I said you should make friends among the pigeons, Sam, but I didn’t know you’d take it personally.”

Sam nodded at the bird. “It’s one of Jo’s, smartass.”

Dean’s smile evaporated. “Oh. What’s she say?”

“She wants us to bag Michael, bring him back to Monterrigioni to stand trial.” Sam said, rolling up the coded note and stuffing it into his pocket. 

Dean nodded. “I can live with that. Anything else?”

A corner of Sam’s mouth turned up. “Nothing important.”

His brother’s eyes narrowed. “FIne then, stop smiling. We’ve got work to do.”  
\----------------  
At the very bottom of her letter to Sam, Jo had written:

And yes, my hunch was that Dean was meeting Castiel. Those two have a connection. I’ll let that happen for now. We will see how the situation changes, but having a Templar on our side seems smart, and it doesn’t harm the brotherhood at all. 

For now.   
\---------------- 

“What do you mean you don’t have a plan?!” Sam whispered, crouched on the tiled roof of the church next to his brother. 

Dean blinked rapidly, pressing a hand to his chest. “Okay, I never said that I had a plan.” Dean was slightly out of breath from his climb up the church’s steeple, and some of the Templar Scout’s blood still stained his hands. He wiped his hands on his pants, trying to shake the stench of the man from his memory. The Templar had smelled strongly of peppermint. 

Sam pursed his lips angrily, his eyes wide. “Well, we can’t just swoop into the damn Templar dinner party, snatch their leader, and escape undetected. How the fuck are we supposed to do that? We’re not gods, Dean.”

Dean groaned. “Look, I know! I know. We’ll figure something out. GIve me a minute.” 

The two assassins proceeded across the roof, heading towards the building connected to the south of the church. The three-story building was made of the same hard stone as the church, with similar red-yellow tiles cobbling its roof. That was where Sam had spotted Michael, and every damn Templar in Florence. God damn it… Dean thought angrily. Why couldn’t anything be easy?

“We are in so over our heads,” Sam groaned behind him. “There’s no way we can kill all those Templars, or sneak past them. I’m using eagle sense right now, and there are just too many for us to take.”

“Not helping!” Dean barked, the beginnings of an idea forming in his head. “But maybe we don’t need to kill them, or sneak past them. We just need to get Michael, right?”

Sam nodded, unconvinced. “So…?”

“We can scare the Templars into handing him over to us.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? That’s the big plan? Scare every Templar in the city into handing over their leader?” 

“You got a better idea, asshole?” 

Sam was quiet for a moment before responding quietly. “Dean, these are Templars. They’re not civilians, they’re not people, they’re barely even human.”

“They’re not all like that, Sam.” Dean said loudly, probably louder than he should have. 

Sam held a hand up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that about Cas. He’s different, fratello. I get that now. Really, I do.”

Dean stared his brother down. From the moment Sam had laid eyes on Castiel, his brother had seen only the red templar cross stitched into his robes. And Dean didn’t blame him, at least not that much. They had been bred to fight each other, raised and trained and taught that to eradicate the presence of the other would be their life’s mission. But Cas had only ever shown Sam courtesy and kindness in response to the Assassin’s coldness. 

Sam shook his head. “But I don’t know of anything that a Templar is afraid of, besides maybe death.”

Dean grinned. “Bingo.”

“What do you--” Realization dawned in Sam’s eyes. “That’s insane.”

It was, but it was the only plan that they had. And it might just have been crazy enough to work.

____________________

Michael grinned, leaning back in his chair and knocking back his sixth shot. The leader of the Templars surveyed the massive hall around him. Every wall sconce was lit, and braziers glowed from all corners of the hall, casting a golden glow onto the lazing Templars. Dozens of his brothers and sisters lounged near solid oaken tables that stretched the length of the hall, laughing and drinking in the aftermath of the evening’s meeting. Tall glass windows covered the sides of the expanisve hall, stretching from the high ceiling to six feet above the ground. It was a beautiful room, one that had served as a mess hall and meeting area for the nuns and priests who used to call the Santa Carlotta home. 

Michael looked to his left, catching Gabriel’s eye. His lieutenant was having a conversation with the English Templar Balthazar, who seemed somberly focused on whatever Gabriel was saying. 

“Something I should know about?” Michael asked as Gabriel slid back into his place across the table from him. 

“Not unless you’re interested in Balthy’s love life,” Gabriel replied, reaching across the table for a turkey leg. 

Michael shook his head. “No, not particularly.”

“Then I think I’ll have to be on my way, fearless leader. I have an appointment with Riccardo Roman, in fact he’s probably already in my tower.” Gabriel said, pushing his chair back and saluting him. 

“So soon? You’ve barely sat down the whole evening, Gabriel. But If you’re going to meet Roman, I suppose you should go now, before that damn thief empties your liquor cabinet.” Michael said, raising his goblet to his lieutenant.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, mischief twinkling in his amber eyes. “I’m counting on it.”

Gabriel was the one who was really in charge of their base of operations in Florence, the man who oversaw day-to-day operations. He kept the organization strong and ready, while Michael focused more on...independent projects. 

Michael relied on Gabriel the most in their order. He also didn’t trust Gabriel at all. His lieutenant was a trickster at heart, and though he had proved responsible enough to lead the Templars of the city, Michael had a feeling that it was only a matter of time before Gabriel managed to fool his leader. He watched the long-haired Templar lead Balthazar out of the hall with, patting Templars on the back and shaking hands as he went. 

The leader of the Florentine Templars closed his eyes, running a hand across his smooth head. He had been shaving his head from a young age, emulating the orders of monks and holy men the Knights Templar had originally been founded upon. 

A loud bang broke his line of thought, and he opened his eyes to search for the source of the noise. Perhaps some apprentice had broken a bottle in a drunken fit. But the eyes of every Templar were directed at one of the tall windows on the western wall of the building. A web of fissures had appeared in the glass, spreading out from a point in the window high above them. The cracks widened and grew, the glass crackling and popping as shards began to shake loose from the frame of the high window. 

Another loud bang, and the window shattered, every piece of glass falling inward to crash against the floor. Every templar moved to their feet, hands going to blades, bows, and shields. Michael alone remained seated, watching the window with mild interest. 

A cool wind blew in through the broken window, extinguishing the torches all along the west wall of the hall. Michael heard a few shrieks from the apprentice’s table as the hall was plunged into darkness. The wind howled into the hall, the temperature dropping significantly. The hall that was moments ago warm and bright was now chill and foreboding, the darkness seeming even to encroach on the few braziers that remained lit. 

A chill ran down Michael’s spine. 

A shadowed form appeared on the edge of the broken window in a puff of gray smoke, a long dark cloak billowing in the wind behind it. Shrieks of alarm and surprise rent the air as the Templars drew their swords and nocked arrows, aiming at the figure in the window. Michael raised a hand, finally standing up from his seat to face the cloaked figure. 

“Hold your fire,” he said calmly. “Who are you to come into our space, and damage our property? God shall surely curse he who damages the property of his house. You stand in the sanctuary of the Santa Carlotta, good sir, and have damaged the property of the Lord.”

“SPEAK NOT OF GOD” the figure rasped, sweeping an arm across the hall. Two more loud pops ripped through the air, and two templars fell to the ground, bleeding and howling in pain. “SPEAK NOT OF GOD, HEATHEN. FOR I AM HIS MESSENGER.”

“And what message have you come to deliver, oh angel of the lord?” Michael asked, his voice steady, betraying nothing. He was not afraid of this apparition, be it man or ghost. His eyes swept the hall, spotting uncertainty amongst his ranks of followers. Some of these Templars might have maintained a shred of their religious beliefs and superstitions, and fear seemed to have sprung to life in their eyes. Men he had seen dive unafraid into battle quivered before the form that perched in the window. 

“THE ANGEL OF DEATH COMES FOR MICHAEL.” The voice rasped, drawing a sword from the depths of its cloak. It raised the silver blade high, the moonlight reflecting from the blade in a ghostly show. 

The form then bellowed, “AND ALL WHO STAND WITH HIM!” A great gray shape billowed behind the form, flapping in the wind behind it loudly. 

“Look at its wings!” “The angel of Death!” “God is angry with us?”

Confused voices swept the hall as men and women dropped their swords, backing away from the window. “LEAVE US!” the figure shouted, and extended a cloaked hand. With another crack, another Templar fell to the ground. “LEAVE US AND YOU MAY BE SPARED THIS NIGHT.” 

Dozens of Templars bolted for the doors, abandoning their leader to save their own skins. Who could stand before a form that killed with a turn of his hand?

Michael waved at the timid few who remained, their fear of Michael’s wrath greater than that of Death itself. He motioned for them to leave him and the figure alone in the Hall. 

Michael raised a hand, a corner of his mouth pulling up in a wicked smile as the last of his soldiers left the hall. “I would speak with you, Angel of Death. I fear you not.”

The cloaked figure dipped its head, acknowledging his surrender. The doors of the hall closed behind the last Templar. 

The figure’s arm extended again with a sharp crack, and Michael fell to the ground, blood spurting from his knee. Michael cursed, a bolt of fear worming its way into his mind. The Angel of Death dropped to the ground, making its way through the shadows towards the leader of the Templars. Michael swallowed nervously, clutching his bleeding leg.

“And what does the Angel of Death want with me?” Michael spat as the shadowy form approached, its face finally illuminated by the brazier behind him.

The figure flipped its dark hood back, revealing sandy hair, dark green eyes, and a triumphant smile. “The Angel of Death wants you...” Dean Vincense said, picking up a clay jug from the table beside him.   
“...to shut the fuck up.” He brought the jug down over Michael’s head, and the Templar fell to the ground, unconscious. 

__________ 

“I can’t believe that worked.” Sam said, holding the back door of the Templar Hall open for his brother. Dean hauled the bleeding Templar through the door, the man slung over his shoulders like a sack of flour. He pulled his robes from Dean’s shoulders, slipping them back over his own arms. “I think the ‘wings’ were a nice touch.”

Dean shook his head with a grin. Scaring every Templar in the city shitless had been the most fun he had had since...since he had danced with Castiel at the Riverboat. Maybe even more fun than that. Maybe. “Honestly, I can’t believe it either. It was all we had though, and I guess we were due for a win. ” Dean said. “We’ve got to get this asshole to Monterriggioni. I wonder if there are any horses around here we can borrow. Imp and Pallas are still stabled down at the Riverboat, and that’s pretty far to lug big ugly here.”

Sam nodded. “I think I saw something that looked like a stables west of the hall. We should go check it out.”

The two Assassins made their way across the grounds, towards a small, run-down looking stable. The thundering of hooves stopped them, the two men dropping to the ground and ducking out of sight. Three shadows emerged from the stables, leading horses across the grounds. 

“Guys!” Charlie slid towards Dean and Sam, approaching them from behind. “You got Michael?” She whispered. 

Dean nodded. The thief’s red hair was loose, and there was drying blood splashed all over her face.

“I take it Roman’s dead.” Sam whispered. 

Charlie sighed. “Yeah, he is.”

“So where’s Cas?” Dean asked, looking over Charlie’s shoulder for the familiar form of his dark-haired friend. 

Charlie bit her lip, her brown eyes full of pain. 

“Charlie, where is Cas?” Dean asked nervously, fear lodging in his gut like an ice-cold spike as he let Michael slide to the ground. 

Sam narrowed his eyes. “He’s not dead, is he?”

Charlie shook her head, extending her arm and pointing past the two Assassins, at the three shadows mounting their horses. Dean narrowed his eyes. There, at the rear of the party…

“I couldn’t stop him. Gabriel and Balthazar are leaving the city, and they convinced Cas to go with them. He’s not himself, Dean. I don’t know what happened…” 

The three horses kicked into a trot, moving quickly and quietly through the courtyard and out of the Iron gates. 

Dean stood up. “I’m going after him.”

Sam sighed. “Dean--”

Dean didn’t look behind him, racing after the three horses and into the shadowy night. A fourth horse was tied to a post outside the stables, dozing in the chilly night, undisturbed by the departure of his stall-mates. Dean cut the strap tying the tan horse to the post, leaping onto its bare back and digging his heels into its side. 

“Go! Go!” Dean yelled, as the horse leapt forward, and he raced after the three fleeing Templars. They thundered through the plaza, the Templars looking over their shoulders at the noise of someone pursuing them. The two Templars in the lead pulled ahead, pushing their horses far ahead of the pursuing Assassin. 

Dean pushed his horse harder, pulling up alongside the Templar bringing up the rear. Castiel’s familiar dark hair whipped in the wind, his icy blue eyes fixed on the road ahead of him. 

“Cas, what the hell are you doing, man? Snap out of it!” Dean yelled, reaching for his friend.

Castiel’s head turned, his eyes meeting Dean’s. A wide smile spread across his face as Cas caught his arm, his grip tight. He twisted his wrist, sending a sharp pain radiating throughout Dean’s right arm. 

“Cas isn’t here right now.” The Templar said, his eyes wide with purpose-driven madness. “He’s gone. I run the show now.”

Dean groaned in pain, his horse struggling to keep up with the Templars. “Cas, I know you’re in there, man. This isn’t you. It’s gonna be okay, just come back with us. Don’t do this, man. I need you.”

Dean’s eyes watered in pain as Castiel’s grip on his arm tightened. For a moment, Dean thought he saw a flicker of something--pain, understanding, helplessness--in those familiar eyes, but it was gone as soon as he saw it, replaced with only malice.

“That’s not good enough this time, Assassin,” The Templar said, yanking on Dean’s arm and pulling the Assassin off of his horse and throwing him to the ground. Dean tucked his arms around his head as he rolled, dodging out of the way of the horses’ hooves as best as he could. Dean rolled to a stop, the sound of the fleeing Templars thundering out of the city echoing throughout his head.


	41. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Cas helped Charlie kill the leader of the Thieves Guild and its ruling class (the Leviathans), Riccardo Roman, before being driven mad from overusing his "abilities". Whatever is possessing Castiel agreed to leave the city with Gabriel and Balthazar. Meanwhile, Dean and Sam have managed to capture Michael alive, after tricking the assembly of Templars into believing that Death himself called for Michael's head. Dean chased after Castiel, begging the Templar to see reason and stay. Castiel pulled the Assassin out of his saddle, dislocating his shoulder and throwing poor Dean to the ground. 
> 
> Dean's been through some shit, and perhaps this bit of trauma was triggering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took me so long h a ha happy birthday to me i am posting this in the last two minutes of my birthday my present to myself is finishing this chapter ha ha i am sorry it took s o l o n g 
> 
> now i am going to play the witcher three whee

Black Thoughts. Thoughts blacker than the pit of the grave descended on Dean’s mind.

_It’s dark, so dark. So much fear. The last time you were scared this shitless, everything was dark. Hands bound, eyes blinded, all you knew was pain. Chains, metal, wood, splinters, and darkness. Stone. Lots of stone, bashing and breaking, steel slicing and cutting. White hot and cold, sliciiNG PAIN and DARK and BLOOD. You became a creature of the dark, something that knew only impulse and suffering and not to give it up, the information that who knew if it was even important. The book, the thing, the name of the sage. Sam had it then, was taking it far away. But they wanted it. Who fucking knew why. You could give a shit if a couple of names were released, innocent people, sure, but they weren’t really worth anything. Just names on a page to you. But it was the mission, it was what you were told to do and it was for the brotherhood so it had to be right. Robi wouldn’t lead you astray, wouldn’t send you into harm’s way if it wasn’t worth it but what could be **wroth hthis knid fo pian i** t made your head hurt and spin and if you had been down there for long enough you would surely have spilled your guts, told them everything you knew and everything they asked and anything you could give them you would have given it gladly if it meant release. You would have talked for hours with your broken teeth and cut tongue, sang songs and told stories, made them up and talked yourself until all you knew was the sound of your own stupid voice. You would have done anything to get off the rack._

 

_Maybe you would even have put some other pitiful soul in your place. Lashed some other motherfucker to your crucifix, picked up a blade, a hammer, a needle, a scalpel yourself, and take your own pound of flesh from another._ __

 

_You hadn’t been there long enough for that. You were on the rack just long enough to fuck you up for a while. Creatures of the dark took from you, splitting and twisting your flesh and thoughts until you weren’t a person anymore: not an Assassin, or a man, or even an animal. He was an it. A mangled mess of flesh and impulse, that longed only for death and the dark and even then, it didn’t really have longings. It only had an ache._

 

_And It ached for death._ __

 

_Maybe you were brought back, maybe someone thought you were worth saving, maybe even more than once. Something saved you. Someone._ __

 

_But that ache, the soul-ripping ache for death, there is nothing can save you from that._

\-------

Castiel was gone.

Dean opened his eyes, peeling his face from the pavement and shaking his head, fighting to quiet his racing mind. He groaned, rolling to his knees before pushing his aching body to his feet. Sam’s sword hung awkwardly from his belt like a third leg, a prop from the charade the brothers had barely managed to pull off what had felt like hours ago.

The sound of galloping hooves had faded, the dust kicked up by the Templars settling back into the road that cut through the city. Dean panted, eyeing the unfamiliar territory around him with suspicion. The darkness seemed to hug the corners of the buildings and alleys around him, igniting a spark of fear he immediately fought to suppress. No fear, he thought violently, panic enveloping him from within, seeming to spread into the world around him and mingle with the darkness. Demonic shapes seemed to lean out from every corner, reaching for him through long shadows and shifts in the cloud-covered sky.

Dean shivered, shaking his head. A part of him had never left that damn dungeon.

The stillness was what was so wrong, not the darkness. The violent silence that comes only after something horrible has happened--something so unbelievably incorrect that the world around you stops, seems to shut off, as if it’s trying to correct itself, to process the wrongness.

The Assassin licked his dry lips, needing to break the silence in any way. He blinked frantically, yelling in the direction he thought Castiel had disappeared in, “Yeah, well, same to you, pal. I don’t need you anyway!”

His eyes watered as his dislocated arm dragged down, the ball at the end of the bone so completely out of joint that it made his skin crawl. It wasn’t so much the pain that brought tears to Dean’s eyes. He had endured pain, could withstand loss and torture and combat, mental, physical, whatever. But the wrongness of feeling bone-on-bone friction, a scraping, searing displacement that the thing that made his eyes sting. This was his limb, his life, something he should have been control of, an extension of himself he could always rely on. Now the arm hung limply at his side, a painful reminder of a problem he couldn’t solve on his own.

“Son of a bitch. Okay. Cas is gone. Cas.. Cas is gone,” He whispered, his voice breaking. “Gotta get back to Sammy.”

Gotta keep going, no matter what. That’s your damn job. Not killing, not sneaking. You’re a damn soldier. Act like it.

Dean whistled, the horse he had stolen from the Santa Carlotta pricking its ears and trotting back to him from down the cobbled street.

“At least something listens to me. That asshole looked at me like he didn’t even know me...” Dean mumbled, leaning his head into the horse’s tan mane, picturing Castiel’s violent eyes every time he closed his own. The horse nickered, blowing a puff of warm air into the Assassin’s face and pushing his hood back with its nose. Dean’s frown softened, and he scratched the horse’s jaw absentmindedly. He was glad of the comfort the beast provided; the steady sound of its breath and the warmth of the solid present thing chasing away his anxiety. A stony pit of discomfort remained, but Dean had a feeling that wasn’t going to be as easily dissipated.

Dean led the horse over to a pile of boxes some merchant had left in the road, pushing himself from the top of the wooden crates onto the tan horse’s bare back.  “Thanks. I know it wasn’t really him, it’s whatever the fuck gives him those powers. Healing, mind-talking, who knows what that nut can do.”

He squeezed the horse’s side with his knees, and they took off at a trot in the direction of Santa Carlotta.

“I mean, in my opinion, he should just stop using his freakin’ powers if they make him crazy. It’s nuts! That’s what it is. I mean, what kind of person continues to do something if they know that thing is going to make something else mess with your mind? I mean, come on. Do you know what the definition of insanity is?”

The horse huffed in response. Dean imagined it was agreeing with him, the way people in severe pain and with severe exhaustion (mixed with a bit of triggered post-traumatic stress disorder) might be prone to believing.

Dean ran a hand through his hair. “RIght? I mean, come on, I appreciate what he did for Charlie, fixing her eye. And let’s not forget, he healed my damn leg. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be walking. I’d probably be six feet under, if that. I hear the Templars dig shallow graves. Maybe even shallower for horses.”

The horse made no response to his jab, continuing in the direction of the cathedral in relative silence.

“But doing that, fixing us, fixing me--that’s not his problem. That shouldn’t have to be his job. Especially not at the risk of himself. I mean, take a look at me. The number of people I’ve killed. I’m not worth saving at this point.”  

The horse nickered, recognizing the silhouette of the church in front of them.

Dean waved a hand. “Alright, I’m glad you agree with me on that one.”

The two proceeded through the empty plaza and the wrought-iron gate, hanging lazily from its hinges. Sam and Charlie were in the same spot that he had left them, crouched along the eastern wall of the Hall near the stables. Michael was bound and gagged at their feet, and someone had painted on his forehead in blood, “DEAD”, along with the symbol of the Brotherhood.

Dean slid from the horse’s back. “Nice paint job.” He said, sticking a thumb out towards Michael.

“Thanks.” Charlie said with a nervous chuckle. “Sam told me what you guys did. Angel of Death takes you in, you gotta figure you’re as good as dead.”

A corner of Dean’s mouth turned up as he ambled over, holding his good arm out in invitation. Charlie grinned, wrapping her own arms around his waist “I’m glad you’re okay.” She said, squeezing him tightly.

“Me too, sweetheart.”Dean said, locking eyes with his brother over the top of his head. Sam looked exhausted, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. Dean pulled out of Charlie’s embrace with a deep breath.

“Cas got away. He twisted my shoulder pretty good, too.” Dean said, pointing to his dislocated arm. “I tried to talk to him, but whatever supernatural shit helps him heal people--”

“He can knock people out too, Dean. And he killed a Templar in there by touching him.” Charlie interjected.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, fighting back the anxiety that came with this new information. “Whatever it is that’s inside Cas, it’s getting stronger. And it’s in charge.”

Sam gritted his teeth, his eyes wide. “We need to worry about that later. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re kind of in the middle of enemy territory here. We need to get Michael out of the city.”

Dean nodded. “Okay, fine. The Riverboat, then. We need to get our damn horses.”

Sam jerked his chin at Dean’s arm. “Want me to get that for you before we head out?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Dean said, turning to allow his brother to better grip his shoulder. This was going to hurt. A lot.

“Hey, Dean, ask Charlie what she’s got in that bag.” Sam said, giving her a knowing glance.

“What bag?” Dean asked, craning his head to get a look at the thief. Charlie was carrying a burlap sack under her arm, the bag stained a dark color at the bottom. Charlie raised an eyebrow, a corner of her mouth turning up, as she loosened the tie on the bag, bringing it over for the Assassin to see.

“Holy shit--SON OF A BITCH!” Dean said at the sight of the object in the bag, followed by a sharp pain in his arm as Sam slid his shoulder back into his socket.

Sam patted his brother on the back, the soft whump of his hand on Dean’s shoulder familiar and comforting. “You’re welcome.”

Wide-eyed, Dean looked from Charlie to Sam, expressions of amusement on both of their faces. “Are you serious? Is that Roman’s…”

“Yep.” Charlie said, tightening the string on the bag and slinging it back under her arm. “The prick had his name inked into his junk. How crazy is that? He must have had the Guild’s highest pain tolerance. Anyway, no one would believe me if I just walk into the Riverboat and claim that I killed Riccardo Roman, so I decided to get myself some proof.”

Dean held a hand to his mouth, fighting to keep the contents of his stomach down. “I think I’m gonna be sick. Couldn’t you have gotten something else, like a handkerchief or, or and official document with his signature...or something from him, something that was not his probably-diseased genitalia in a bag?”

Charlie grinned, sliding a gold ring out of her sleeve and twirling it between her fingers. “Never hurts to be thorough, amico.”

The ring was inlaid with the same intricate calligraphy, as the object in Charlie’s...package. In beautiful, swooping curves, the band of the was etched with RR, and set into the ring was a massive polished black stone.

Sam scooped up their captive, laying Michael across the back of the horse as if the Templar was cargo. “We need to get out of here, guys. Come on.”

People were starting to move within the Hall behind them again, the Templars finally recovering from the holy “miracle” that they had just witnessed. Sam was right--it was time to go.

Dean grabbed the halter of the tan horse, leading his brother, Charlie, and their captive out of the grounds through the iron gate.

_____________________

Flint was a common thief. There wasn’t anything special about him, honest. He would swear on his mother, god rest her everliving soul.

He was common, but he had seen his fair share of shit. An older man in his fourth decade of life, a thief since the day he had learned to walk, his brothers used to say, citing all the times their toddler brother managed to nick their coinpurses from their belts to play with their “shinies”. But they hadn’t talked to him in years, a family of merchants who looked down on their youngest sibling and his chosen profession.

He worked the stables attached to the Riverboat most nights, picked pockets in the market during the day. Sometimes Flint would dabble in a bit of breaking and entering, but he kept his head down for the most part, and his fingers were quick enough that he would only rarely get caught. And he always escaped.

Flint was a good thief, and perhaps just a bit more crooked than the average gentleman.

  
When his fellow “Guildmembers” would gripe about the policies of the Leviathans--stupid name, the pretentious pricks had picked out for themselves, pulling a name out of scary stories and legends to inspire fear. Flint had thought that was stupid. He remembered back when the Guild was powerful, and strong, and the will of a thief meant something. Back when they didn’t need to rely on crutches such as fear or reputation. If a thief did a job right, the idea was that you wouldn’t hear about it. There’d be no tales to tell, no one could call the guards on something they didn’t see happen. But that wasn’t how the Leviathan functioned.

The glory days of the Guild. That was back when La Volpe had still walked the streets of Firenze, dipping his head in every now and then to advise the members of the Guild, or warn them of impending threats, possible scores. The old thief hadn’t always shown his face, didn’t rule over the thieves like some sort of governor. The old fox was like a grandfather, not a king, to the Guild: patient, helpful, and guiding.

Then he vanished. La Volpe simply disappeared from Firenze. Most anyone who really knew the old thief presumed him dead, but people spin legends from dead men’s tales.

A few years after his death, some thieves started to say they spotted a wispy silver beast running alongside them in the night, claiming it was La Volpe. “The Fox lights the dark!” The starry-eyed pickpockets would say, claiming that the spirit had lead them away from guards, direct them away from booby-trapped loot stashes, and that it would even illuminate dark paths for unfortunate thieves to escape down.

Flint used to think they were fools, crooking other fools with their tales and lies. He used to.

After the Leviathan, an organization made up of some of the strongest, slyest thieves this side of the Rhine had seized control of the Guild, they condemned any talk of ghostly helpers and silver spirits.

“We’re a city of Christians. Why speak of ghost stories and pagan mysteries?” Roman had laughed once in a crowd of supporters.

“Christians don’t ink their names into their penises, generally.” The young red-headed girl who stood beside him had huffed.

Flint boomed out a laugh at that, doubling over at the knees and wiping a tear from his eye.

That was years ago. Talk of the silver-footed ghost had largely died down, due to the “corrections” the Leviathans would dole out when they heard any talk of the legend.

But drunkards always enjoy a good story, Flint thought to himself, settling down at a table before the roaring hearth of the Sunken Riverboat.  

“All right, lads. Who wants to hear of the time I encountered a spirit from the Otherworld? Something… Supernatural.”

The clump of men leaning on stools and stables settled, lowering their voices and their mugs. Flint stroked his wiry beard, waiting for the rabble to die down.

Flint grinned. “Looks like you boys know your manners.”  

“Shut up and tell the damn story, Flint,” One of the younger thieves called, a runt from a group of long-haired ruffians leaning against the bar.

Flint shook his head. “No respect for your elders. But whatever. I don’t give a fuck whether you respect me or not. ‘Cuz I seen things… things you haven’t heard of in years.”

The younger thieves laughed, turning back to the bartenders, but a few kept their eyes trained on Flint, curiosity flickering in their eyes.

Flint took a deep breath. “It was, what, maybe ten years ago now. I was workin’ a job, some hussy had her beloved steal her locket, or so she claimed. She paid me to break into the cheatin’ bastard’s house, steal it back for her. From her mum or something, I don’t know. She gave it to him when she loved him, and she no longer felt his existence on the Lord’s good earth was justified in anyway.”

Flint leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What she neglected to mention when she gave me the gold was that her backstabbin’ beloved was one of the Medici sons.”

A chorus of laughter erupted following that, and a few hands clapped Flint on the back. He dipped his head, waiting for the noise to die down again. Most of the bar was paying attention now, apart from the table of Leviathans in the back of the bar. Little was more interesting to drunkards than drama, especially the drama of the rich and famous.

“I had already taken her money, couldna back down then. I’ve still got my honor, don’t I? Now I can’t say which Medici brother--customer confidentiality and all that, I’m sure you all understand, but let’s just say I found myself running away from the Medici manor one night, a locket in my pocket and a host of guards on my ass. Faster than a pack of dogs. And I think they had a few dogs on my sorry path, I swear I heard barking.”

A few of the men sitting around him rolled their eyes.

“I saw that, boys, and it’s true, I swear. I was running for my life, the road open before me. Nowhere to hide or duck, nothing to jump over or throw behind me. Just me and my impending death. So I close my eyes, and I pray for the first time in years. My poor mum probably rolled in her grave. I says to myself, “If there is anything out there, anything listening, I could really use a hand right now, damn it.”

One of the barmaids snorted. “You’re not supposed to swear when you pray, Flinty.”

Flint raised his eyebrows, lowering his voice. “But it worked! You see, it worked, because I open my damn eyes, still runnin’ as hard as I have ever before, but I am fading fast, and I mean fast. I won’t last long. I open my eyes and I see it next to me. You’ve all heard the legends. The silver fox was running alongside me, not even looking at me. It just looked ahead, its whole body long and strong. With every lift of its paws, I saw strength surge through the beast. And i felt the strength in me too, it...it infused my limbs and all of a sudden, I wasn’t tired anymore.”

“It’s called second wind, mate. It happens to everyone. You run for a bit, get tired, and then you catch your second wind,” said the man next to him with a weary look, a longtime friend who went by Jay.

“I’m just telling you what I saw, Jay. If it hadn’ta been for La Volpe, I would have been dogmeat. No chance I would have gotten away. That’s what I saw. Say I’m crazy, I don’t care.” He waved for the barmaid to bring over another pint. “I’ve had my share of madness. Time for you younger kids to get in on some of this supernatural shit.”

As if on cue, the back door to the pub banged open, and a deep voice roared into the still-hushed room, “Attention! Life changing news, here. Everyone get the wax out of your ears.”

The eyes of everyone in the bar flicked to the newcomers, two hooded Assassins. One was tall, cloaked in navy fabric, a body slung over his shoulder. He looked around the room with poorly hidden discomfort. The other Assassin was dressed in dark grey robes, forest green accents trimming the folds of the fabric. Between them stood a familiar looking redhead...Flint believed her name was Charlie. He didn’t interact with the girl very often, but she was well liked among the Guild.  

The gray-clad Assassin shuffled his feet, obviously not expecting the gaze of every thief in the bar to focus on them so quickly. “Well, now that we have your attention, our friend here--”

The girl stepped forward, patting the Assassin on the chest and climbing on top of a table. She held a burlap sack in one hand, the bag dark with what looked like drying blood.

The girl let her gaze wander the room, making sure that the attention of every thief, barhand, and customer in the Riverboat was on them, settling at last on the table of Leviathans sitting towards the back of the bar, a group that had been mumbling to themselves throughout Flint’s story. She kept her eyes on the table of Leviathans, proclaiming, “Dick Roman is dead by my hand.”

The bar immediately fell silent. Tension hummed in the air all around them as thieves leaned back in their chairs, casting shifty looks at the people sitting around them as their hands moved to their weapons.

Flint cocked his head at Charlie, the older thief keeping his hand off his blade. He broke the silence, calling out across the bar. “How do we know?”

The redhead smiled, a mischievous grin that would make anyone doubt that the girl had ever had noble intentions at heart. But Flint knew better. “You doubt me, Flint?”

“Not I, lass. But others in this organization might seek some sort of proof that you’ve taken out their leader.” He was careful to say “their”, not “mine”. Things were about to change in the Thieves Guild, and they were about to change very quickly.

“Well, I thought you’d never ask,” Charlie said, lobbing the bloody sack towards the half-dozen Leviathans. The bag landed in the lap of one of Roman’s closest advisers, Edgar, who pulled the drawstring on the sack, yelping at the sight of what was inside.

Charlie cackled as the other Leviathans peeked into the bag, returning Charlie’s amused gaze with blank expressions.

“What is it?” One of the younger thieves asked, the one who had told Flint to “shut up and get on with his story” ducking behind the table and snatching the bag. He pulled the string, his mouth immediately hanging open.   
  


“It’s his prick! She’s cut off Roman’s cock!” The thief called, passing the bag across the bar.

Flint chuckled. “I’d have thought of all the Leviathans, Edgar, you would have recognized that bit pretty quick. You were so far up Roman’s ass..”

Edgar growled, rising and drawing a curved sword from his belt. Flint grinned, remaining seated by the hearth. A cluster of the men around him stepped between him and the table of Leviathans. The rest of the Thieves Guild ruling class remained silent, their eyes locked on Charlie.

Charlie raised her arms. “This Guild doesn’t need any further bloodshed.”

“And who are you to know what this Guild needs?” Edgar spat, his face red with rage.

Charlie lowered her arms, letting them drop to her sides. “I had a personal conflict with Roman. He tried to have me killed, but he failed. The rules of our Organization clearly state that the life of a thief is foreit should he attempt to take the life of a brother or sister of the Guild. I was within my right to take his life.”

“And what proof do you have that he tried to take your life? Why should he care about a lowly street thief?” Another Leviathan asked, her gaze sweeping up and down Charlie’s body disdainfully.

The navy-clad Assassin stepped forward. “I was there. I saw the whole thing. Roman kidnapped Charlie and would have killed her if she hadn’t been able to escape.”

Charlie folded her arms. “I was within my rights. That’s what our laws dictate.”

“They’re more like guidelines, and they do not pertain to killing Leviathans. Not to the Leader of the Guild.” Edgar growled.

Flint grumbled, rising to his feet. “You know, maybe it’s just me, but I am sick of you Leviathans treating everyone like you’re something special, like we should kiss your feet for your protection and your wealth, and give in to your taxes and your laws. We were once a proud organization,” Flint said, noting the murmurs of his companions and the nods from those around the room. “We feared no one, answered not to false royalty and glorified gods. We had dignity, and we lived by our rules. Without a creed, what are any of us? Lawless?”

Flint looked up at Charlie, the girl still balancing atop the table. She nodded gratefully, and he walked over to the girl, maneuvering around wide-eyed men and women. Putting a hand on his blade, he stood beside the thief who had killed the leader of the Leviathan. After a steely look at Jay, his friend shoved his chair back, moving to stand beside Flint and the redhead. Slowly a crowd formed around them, of old and young Guildmembers who were tired of feeling stepped upon, swept up by the tide of what felt like revolution.

Charlie’s grin disappeared, her eyes narrowing at the table of Leviathans. “I would put it to a vote.”

Edgar’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

Flint nodded. “Our code states that any major decision can be put to a majority vote. Charlie is within her rights to pose a question to the court.”

“All those in favor of the expulsion of the order of Leviathan from the Guild…” Charlie began, only to be interrupted by a chorus of outrage from the Leviathans. A bald man sitting at the bar closest to their table frowned, banging a massive warhammer against the corner of the bartop and silencing them.

“Carry on, please,” The bald man called, mumbling an apology to one of the barmaids for the dent in the counter’s wood.

“All those in favor, shout “Aye”! Charlie called, punching her fist into the air, red hair framing her excited smile.

A great shout shook the Riverboat as nearly every thief called out their vote in unison, banging their breasts and shaking their swords and knives.

Charlie pulled a gold ring from her pocket, holding it up to the light of the hearth as if to study it.

“Those opposed...whimper “Nay”,” Charlie called. A few of the Leviathans opened their mouths to speak, but at the looks of the thieves surrounding them their voices fell.

“By the laws of the Thieves Guild of Firenze, we thereby banish the organization formerly known as Leviathans from the Guild and its establishments, and if you would like to keep your miserable lives I would recommend you leave the city quickly. I hear the thieves around here don’t take kindly to interlopers.” Charlie said, stamping her foot on the table.

The thieves yelled in triumph, flooding around the remaining Leviathans, grasping them by their arms, rooting through their pockets, and manhandling the reluctant exiles towards the door.

“This isn’t over!”Edgar called over his shoulder, as he was shoved out the side door of the bar. “You will be sorry for this, putana.”

Charlie sighed dramatically, shrugging. “No, I probably won’t.”

Flint barked out a laugh. “You’re right. They’ll be dead within the hour.”

____________

Sam grinned, leading his horse away from the Riverboat. “That was..”

Dean’s eyes were wide, alight with the fire that comes only from being a part of a revolution. “That was kick-ass! I mean, I knew Charlie was tough, but who knew she had it in her to be a revolutionary?”

Sam nodded, his thoughts echoing his brother’s. “The Guild was ready for it, though. And change doesn’t happen overnight. They need a lot of work before they’ll be back to their former glory.”

The brothers had left Charlie in the bar, satisfied that her new fan club would be keeping the thief safe, but only after Dean had slipped a massive amount of gold coins into one of the older thief’s hands, the one who had first moved to stand beside her, with the direction to keep that girl safe, no matter what.

Dean shrugged, lifting their squirming cargo onto the back of his horse. “Whatever, man. That was inspiring.”

The brothers swung into their saddles simultaneously, about to head down the road, when the door to the bar opened, the old thief emerging with Charlie. His long gray hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and the corners of his warm brown eyes crinkled as he grinned up at the Assassins.

“The young lady here wanted me to give you back your coin, Assassin. She says she can pay me herself for bodyguard services, not that she’d need to. I’d go into battle for the killer of that prick Roman no matter what.” The thief said, tossing a small bag of florins up to Dean.

Sam watched his brother fumble to catch the pouch of coins, biting back a laugh.

“Thanks, guys,” Charlie said, patting Sam on the leg. “It’s been a hell of a night.”

Dean shook his head. “You don’t have to tell us, sweetheart. It’s just gettin’ started.”

Charlie smiled. “Seems as though we’re all just getting started.”

Sam ruffled Charlie’s hair as the brother’s turned their horses to leave. “See you around, Charlie. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I never--oh, wow.” Charlie said, her eyes locked on something in the street before them. Sam turned, following her gaze.

A silver-white form strode toward them down the cobbled street, flooding the alley with soft light. Its amber eyes glowed, paws phasing through puddles and stones as if the objects didn’t exist to the beast.

Sam cocked his head, attention locked on the apparition. “Are you guys seeing this, or…”

“Yeah, man.” Dean said, his breath hitching. “I am...seeing this, all right.”

“La Volpe.” The old thief murmured, his tone one of wonder, of reverence. “We meet again, friend.”

Charlie sucked in a breath. “Oh, wow.”

The apparition dipped its head in what appeared to be acknowledgement, continuing towards the group. Imp’s eyes rolled and Pallas stomped a foot at the approach of the ghostly form. The fox stopped some ways before Charlie, the thief’s face a mask of exhaustion and disbelief.

The fox opened its mouth as if to bark at the girl, locking its golden eyes with her brown ones. The two stayed like that for a moment, the ghost and the thief connected by only a glance before the apparition faded from sight.

“Did...did that just happen, or am I actually dreaming?” Charlie asked, her mouth hanging open.

The old thief patted her on the back. “Either way, he’s gone now. Looks like the spirit of La Volpe is on your side, Charlie. For whatever that’s worth.”

Sam raised his eyebrows at the old thief. “You mean that was a ghost? Like a real...a spirit, or something? That’s..that’s impossible.”

Charlie closed her eyes, rubbing her temples with her index finger. “You got a better explanation, Sam?”

Dean shook his head, saying quietly, “I’d believe it.”

Sam closed his mouth in surprise, his thoughts moving again to Castiel, and the way he had witnessed him heal Charlie’s damaged eye. “Yeah, I guess I do too.”

Michael murmured something through his gag, squirming in his binds. The old thief chuckled, pointing at the bound Templar. “Better get moving if you’re gonna deliver that cargo. Looks like it’s waking up.”

Sam nodded. “Thanks. We’ll be leaving, I guess. Take care of yourself, Charlie. We love you.”

Charlie nodded. “Love you, too. So don’t do anything stupid. And I’ll ask around about where Gabriel might have been headed. Keep an eye out for those pigeons of yours.”

The brothers nodded, waving to their friend, the girl who had been kidnapped, stabbed, healed, and revolutionized within the span of a few days.

“What a fucking day,” Sam called to his brother as the two Assassins trotted through the gate of the city, out into the still-dark Tuscan countryside.

Dean kept his gaze ahead, not looking at his brother. “Yeah. What a day.”

\-------------------

“Ouch.” Castiel said, rubbing his head. His eyes were shut, the world bright around him. Harsh light colored the darkness behind his eyes red, a brightness he tried to block by throwing an arm across his face.

“Look, he moved!”

A familiar voice...Balthazar.

“Gabriel, he’s awake! You gave us a scare, Cas.”

Castiel blinked, his eyes focusing on his friend’s face. Balthazar grinned down at him, the area around his right eye purple and puffy.

  
“You...your face…” Cas said, reaching for his friend.  

Balthazar nodded his head once. “You clocked me good, mate, that’s why we had to tie you up. You weren’t really...acting like yourself. You almost stuck a knife in Gabriel.”

Castiel sat up, his stomach churning as his head spun, vertigo consuming his senses. His chest was bound with coarse rope, his entire body tied to the structure behind him. “It feels like a horse stepped on my head.”

“Well, we had to knock you out somehow. You were upsetting the other passengers.” Balthazar said,   
  


Cas frowned, closing his eyes to block out the bright sunlight that shone directly overhead. “Passenger..what..”

“Rise and shine, buddy.” Gabriel called, his voice jubilant. Cas looked around for his superior, his eyes passing over wooden framework and blue sky. All around him was the same color brown, boards and railings and beams made up of the same wood. He looked up, his head banging against a thick wooden mast as he caught sight of white linen flapping in the breeze high overhead.

“We’re..on a boat?” Cas asked, looking pitifully from Balthazar’s sheepish expression to Gabriel’s elated one.

“You got that right, buddy.” Gabriel said. “And we are headed far away from Michael and the stupid bounty he placed on your head, compadre. We’re headed to La Serenissima!”

At Cas’ blank expression, Gabriel sighed. “Venice, you pleb! We’re going to the city on the water!”

Cas groaned, banging his head back against the mast of the ship as the memories of the past few days flooded back to him... helping Charlie kill Roman, fleeing the city, Dean chasing after them, the Assassin’s words ringing in his ears. It’s gonna be okay..I need you, I need you…

"What have I done?" Cas whispered.

 

“Aren’t you excited?” Gabriel called. “It’s going to be great! You’ll love it, I swear.”

  
The amber-eyed Templar took a deep breath. “I think a sabbatical is just what you need, Cas. That, and one of the sages mentioned in that ledger we nicked from the Assassins lives in Venice. Crazy, right?! It's like the universe just wanted me, wanted us, to take a vacation.”

 

"Sages? You mean there are more than one?" Castiel asked, his eyes still closed.

 

"Yep," Gabriel called, the deck of the ship shaking as he strode down the deck towards his companions. "Birth records are so helpful. I mean, two children are born in Florence with differently colored eyes to the same midwife, and within the same five years? Wow. What are the odds of that happening?"

 


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a real chapter haha sorry

this isn't a real chapter this is just me apologizing for not posting in like a week. Some shit has come up and I'm fine I just haven't gotten much of a chance to write this week. Hopefully it'll be calmer after this weekend. Believe me I'm just as frustrated as u probably are. Sorry my friends. New things are coming...just slowly...he he e hehe kill me


	43. The Pit and the Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Assassins discuss their next move, eliminate a threat, and maybe even get a little Jesus. 
> 
> lol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight i know its been two weeks since i posted so sorry no real reasoning just a summer slump i suppose sorry everyone just know im still crazy about this story so im still gonna write it forever like legit ill probably be dead in the grave still making shit stories up for this stupid au. So once again sorry, dont even have a good excuse, thanks for reading, etc etc.

Sparks flew from behind the blacksmith’s counter; the strike of hammer on red-hot metal ringing out across the dusty street. It was the end of a season in Monteriggioni, and the heavy, dry air of summer seemed to know that it wasn't going to oppress the people of the village for much longer. The heat clung on, sweltering and omnipresent. The people of the villa fought heatstroke and exhaustion in whatever ways they could, staying out of the sun and staying hydrated, but Kevin had already treated six produce farmers this week for the effects of the violent heat. 

Kevin grabbed the paper-wrapped packages from the smithy, tossing a few florins onto the unpolished wooden counter and calling out a “thank you” to the burly blacksmith and his sons. They grunted in unison, and Kevin moved off towards the villa.   
  
The few kids braving the summer heat to play in the street waved to Kevin, calling, "Dottore Kevin, Dottore Kevin, come play with us! Ricci's father made us a new ball."  
  
Kevin smiled, slowing his pace but not stopping. "I'm not a doctor, you know that. I'm still training."  
  
One of the little girls tugged on the leg of his pants, her wide eyes staring up at him in admiration. "You are too a doctor. You helped my mama give birth to my baby brother last week! And you helped Mori's grandpa yesterday night when he passed out from the heapstoke."  
  
Kevin chuckled. "It's heatstroke, Ella. And make sure you all stay hydrated. Especially if you're playing in the streets. I don't want to hear your mothers knocking on my door in the middle of the night because you passed out in the road, alright?"  
  
The children nodded, calling “addio” as he continued down the streets toward the dark stone walls of the villa. Kevin had only lived in the village for a month, and already it felt like everyone and their mother knew his name. He supposed it was hard to stay unnoticed when you were a young Chinese man in a city of Italian merchants and farmers. Especially if you were currently dating the leader of said village’s Assassin Brotherhood.   
  
Kevin made his way around the training ring in front of the villa, where a pair of dark-haired assassins sparred. They waved as Kevin passed, the wooden rods they fought with lashing out and cracking against each other with regularity. "Hey Kev--ow!" One of them shrieked as the wooden staff struck bone, and Kevin almost managed not to laugh.

"Is that a thing that all doctors do? Snicker when people get hurt?"   
  
Kevin grinned wider at the sound of Jo's voice. The leader of the Italian Assassins patted him on the shoulder, moving into his line of sight. Dark circles curved beneath her eyes, the only indicator that the long nights of researching, correspondence, and planning were starting to take their toll.

Kevin leaned over, kissing his girlfriend on the cheek.

"Ew. You guys are nasty." The Assassin who had just been whacked by her training partner shouted.

"Shut up, Andrea." Jo called, raising an eyebrow at the bundle in Kevin's arms.

He nodded. "The boys at the smithy say “Hi.”"

Jo's shoulders drooped. "To business, then."

Kevin followed Jo across the courtyard, around the side of the tall villa and along the statues of the ancient Roman gods. Jo stopped in front of a pillar, atop which sat a statue of a woman cloaked in flowing robes, a spear balanced on her arm.

"Minerva, or Athena," Jo said. "Goddess of wisdom in battle, strategy, etc."

Kevin bobbed his head in agreement, pushing his long hair back, away from his face. _Maybe I should start wearing it pulled back like Sam does sometimes_ , Kevin thought. _Either that or cut it off. It’s getting out of hand._

Jo reached out, tapping the small statuette on the head before pushing on a nearly invisible slab at Athena's feet. Kevin heard a popping sound, followed by a grinding of gears as Jo leaned into the pillar, shoving the statue and a two foot section of the stone pathway it was attached to along a well camouflaged track through the dirt.

Kevin gazed down into the black pit that had just opened up in the familiar courtyard. "This is new," he murmured.

Jo got down on her hands and knees, swinging into the hole, her hands gripping iron bars set into the side of the pit. "There's secrets about this village that I don't even know about. Sam and Dean showed me this place once."

Kevin followed her, tucking the package under his arm and peering into the dark pit suspiciously. "Doesn't seem exactly like the kind of place you'd spend the day with your baby cousin."

Jo chuckled." Well, some scrub kid kept picking on me when we were little. His name was Antonio, and his favorite thing was to put me in a headlock."

"Did you break his foot?"

Kevin heard a splash as Jo hopped off the ladder into the black, ankle-level water below them. "I broke his nose, but Sam and Dean didn't think that was good enough. They locked him down here for two days. His mom almost bit Robi's head off when those idiots finally let him out."

Kevin laughed, pulling a torch from the leather-wrapped bundle from the smithy. The contents of the package shifted, followed by the _cling_ of metal on metal from within. He held the resin-and-cloth wrapped stick out to where he thought Jo was standing. A few sparks later, she had lit the torch, revealing the stone sides of the damp, earthy pit. Dark moss crawled up the brick walls, reaching towards the sunlight that filtered in through the hole in the ceiling. Jo reached for a rusted crank in the wall, leaning her weight against the apparatus. The walls around them creaked, and Kevin watched the statuette slide back into place above them, shutting off the hot, bright sunlight of the early afternoon.

"You ready for this?" Jo asked, raising an eyebrow at Kevin. He watched the torchlight flicker across her face, casting shadows and red light across the planes of her clear, tanned skin. For a moment, he was struck by how much she looked like the statuette above him; all determination and set jawline, superhuman power and understanding masked by a stretched fabric of very human beauty.

He cleared his throat, leaning forward and passing her the torch. He laced his left hand with her right, squeezing once before letting go.

“Lead on.”

Jo flashed him a nervous smile, turning and moving down a dark corridor. Kevin followed her, wading through dark water as the narrow corridor curved inwards, opening out into a dark cavern. The orange torchlight shifted around them, pulsing against the vast blackness of the space they had just entered.

Kevin sucked in a breath. “Woah. How big is this place?”

“Uh, we don’t really know. Sam and Dean found it when they were teenagers and tried making some maps up, but the Brotherhood has had a network of tunnels running underneath the villa for decades. It’s where everyone fled to in the Seige of Monteriggioni.”

“The what?” Kevin asked, listening carefully for how his voice bounced across the cavern. Jo lead him down a set of slick stairs, trailing one arm along the wall beside her.

“I guess you wouldn’t know. Sometimes I forget that you’re not from around here, Kevin. You fit in so well with the villagers, and the Assassins. It’s easy to forget you’ve only been around for a month. Everyone just sort of...likes you.”

Kevin chuckled, thinking of the sneers on the faces of some of the older Assassins in the village, then even further back to his seaward journey to Italy with his mother. The stops they made in Constantinople, Greece, and finally Italy, the people who looked like them and spoke their language disappearing with the miles they logged, replaced by the furrowed brow and foreign tongues of lands he had never been to before in his life. It had been easier to adapt to life in Monterrigioni: people were used to the weird that came along with the Assassin’s Brotherhood, and having friends in high places didn’t hurt.

“Some of them more than others. People take to a doctor, or a medical apprentice at least, especially after a battle. And people like you too, Jo.”

Jo snorted, rounding a corner and proceeding down yet another damp staircase. “Only because of my stepfather’s reputation.”

“And your own reputation. We’re just getting started here, Jo. Give yourself a chance.”

She turned, giving Kevin a nod before proceeding down yet another hallway. What a maze, Kevin thought.

“The Siege of Monterrigioni happened maybe thirty years ago. Rodrigo Borgia laid waste to the villa, after Ezio Auditore confronted the pope at the time, discovering critical information about the First Civilization, the Apple of Eden. You probably know that part,” Jo said, and Kevin nodded. He had heard that story often. “We lost so many Assassins…” her voice trailed off. “But many escaped into the tunnels. We were able to rebuild, just like we always do.”

Kevin nodded. “Useful, then. Very useful. Kind of brutal for Sam and Dean to lock that kid down here. Even worse knowing that there might be some bodies or...you know...weird stuff down here leftover from the Siege.”

“Yeah. They, uh, really didn’t like when Antonio made fun of my dad. Right after he died, Antonio and his goony friends came up to me when we were training one day and he said something about how maybe if my father hadn’t been such a shitty Assassin, he would have made it out alive.”

Kevin nodded, his eyes widening in understanding. “Sam and Dean overheard that.”

Jo nodded, her voice steady. “Their father was his partner on that mission. I think they might have had some...mixed up feelings about the whole thing. And when Sam and Dean don’t understand something, they end up making violent decisions. Some might even say bad decisions”

Kevin nodded. That was understandable. There was a lot of history between Jo, Sam, and Dean, that much he already knew. Not all of that history was good.

“So they locked him in one of these caverns for two days. No food, no water, no light. They didn’t tell me a thing about it either, I only found out after they dragged the poor fuck out of the tunnels.” Jo said, leading him through what felt like another large, open cavern. Kevin didn’t know if he could find his way back to the entrance on his own, the vast labyrinth winding and winding and so oppressively _black_. They lit a few wall sconces as they went, illuminating damp walls and pillars made of the same yellowed brick that made up most of the Villa’s older buildings.

“Was he...okay? Antonio?” Kevin asked.

Jo peered over her shoulder at him, her eyes dry and focused. “He didn’t speak to anyone for a week, and whenever he saw me after that he would turn tail and run for his mother.”

Kevin shook his head. “I don’t really blame him. I can’t imagine being imprisoned down here in the dark, not knowing if you’d ever see the sun again.”

Jo stiffened. “It’s a...necessary thing, Kevin.”

Kevin reached out to touch her shoulder, his fingers curling over the pale blue fabric of her robes. “I didn’t mean it like that. Michael is different. He’s a criminal. He killed Robi, and countless others.”

Jo nodded, slowing to a stop before a great wooden door. “I know. But sometimes if you think too long about the morality of some of the decisions we’ve made...decisions I’ve made…we stop seeming so different after all. Templars and Assassins, I mean.”

“The best we can do is seek justice, and strive to do good. We kill, they kill. But we kill for a purpose, Jo.” Kevin said, taking the torch from her and lighting the wall fixtures around them.

Jo turned on him, every muscle in her body struggling to remain relaxed. “And you think they don’t? No villain ever thought he was evil, Kevin.”

“And no hero ever thought he was good,” Kevin murmured. “What do you think is right?”

Jo took a deep breath, stepping closer to him slowly. “I think...that the Brotherhood is right. I think that what we do has meaning. And I think that those who wrong us deserve to be punished.”

A corner of her mouth pulled up. “And...I’m really glad you’re with me.”

Kevin smiled back at her. “I’m always glad to follow my liege into battle.”

Jo stepped closer, wrapping her arms around Kevin’s waist and leaning into his chest. Kevin rested his arms around her shoulders, closing his eyes and burying his face in her hair. “It’ll be okay. We can do this. You can do this.”

Jo nodded, turning away from him and shoving the door open.

“Alright then. Let’s get this over with.”

____________________

 

Two hooded forms stood beside each other in the stone cavern, turning to face Jo as she entered the room. Even with their hoods up, she would have recognized her cousins anywhere. Their familiar gray and navy robes hung from their squared shoulders, and Dean pulled the dark green cape draped across his right arm further across his chest, as if to combat the chill of the damp air. Before them, on his knees in the center of the empty, circular stone cell, was a man in ripped, dirty trousers. His shredded, bloody jerkin had been discarded, and his bare chest heaved in the light of the torches on the wall. His hands and feet were wrapped in ropes: thick, wiry cords that stood out against his red, chafed wrists.

Jo moved forward, into the chamber. She heard Kevin’s footsteps beside her, a steady presence. She took a deep breath, and was glad for perhaps the hundredth time that week that he had decided to stay in Monteriggioni while his mother continued her journey across Europe. Mrs. Tran had more to her mission than just educational tourism, Jo was smart enough to realize that. But she wasn’t going to ask about something that Mrs. Tran wouldn’t tell her. Everyone in the Brotherhood kept secrets. She understood that. But she was glad Kevin stood beside her, and Jo was comforted by the solid presence of her cousins in the room as well.

“Michael.” Jo said, her voice even, uncolored by the lump of rage and fear she swallowed as she glared at the man who had killed the closest thing she had to a father.

“Ah, yes. The Leader of the Assassins. Queen of Killers. I don’t think we’ve had much of a chance to talk before now. You’re looking fit.” He said, his back straight and his eyes confident.

Kevin jerked his chin at Sam, raising the bundle he had brought from the blacksmith in the air. Sam nodded, and Kevin tossed the package across the chamber. It flew through the air, and Sam caught it with one hand, before he and Dean pulled cuffs and chains from the bundle, still warm from the smithy’s forge.

Michael cocked his head at the chains. “Those look new.”

Jo watched Sam and Dean move around him, latching the chains and cuffs to both his legs and his arms, discarding the bloody ropes only after the chains were attached. “The Brotherhood rarely takes prisoners.”

“Nice to know you’re special, isn’t it, you snowflake?” Dean growled to the Templar, locking his chains to an iron hook in the wall.

Jo gave her cousin a look, hopefully one that said “Do not get involved with this one.”

“You’re being held in incarceration until the Brotherhood sees fit, Michael. As a human being, even a member of the Templars, you have certain...rights.” Jo said, pacing slowly around the cell. Michael had been through a hard day of riding; she could see it from the purpling bruises across his chest. His shaved head glistened with sweat, a thin layer of dark black hair beginning to crop up from the Templar’s head. “Those rights were revoked when you broke some of the most basic codes of war, by killing my predecessor.”

Michael grinned. “That’s the problem with you Assassins. It’s always so personal.”

Sam and Dean stiffened beside him. Dean moved towards the Templar, quick as lightning. Sam put a hand on his brother’s chest, keeping Dean from moving any closer to Michael.

“Listen closely, you son of a bitch…” Dean growled, pushing against Sam’s hand.

Michael raised an eyebrow, his face a mask of polite disinterest. “Or you’ll what? The Vincense Brothers, right? Good to see you boys again. How’s Castiel?”

Dean twitched his head, his lips pulling back across his teeth in a snarl.

Sam shot Jo a look, moving his lips quickly and silently. _We need to get out._

Jo nodded, motioning for Sam and Dean to join her. Sam practically dragged Dean away from Michael.

“You will remain in our custody down here until the Brotherhood sees a use for you, Michael. If you’re forthcoming with the information that you give us, you might make it easier on yourself.”

Jo turned, walking back towards the massive door they had entered through. There were other entrances into the chamber, one in each cardinal direction. Sam and Dean had brought Michael in through the southern portal, and a series of tunnels that led in the direction of Firenze. A torch flickered at every door.

Michael laughed. “The righteous Assassins. Locking an adversary down in a pit because they don’t know what to do with him. You children are playing at a very dangerous game.”

Jo looked over her shoulder at the Templar, motioning for her cousins to open the door. “Maybe we are childish, maybe we’re new to this. But which of us is in the pit, and which of us walks out of here free?”

Michael threw his head back, laughing like a madman. Jo shook her head, walking out of the chamber, trying to convince herself that her steps weren’t quickened by fear.

“I’m right where I want to be, Assassin. Don’t you worry about me down here.” Michael called as the door shut behind them.

Jo let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

“What are we gonna do about him?” Sam asked quietly.

“We’ll figure it out as we go. I think we should leave him down there for a few days, no food, no water. Then we’ve got some Assassins with interrogation experience. We should get as much information out of him as we can.”

Dean nodded. “I want in.”

“Absolutely not,” Sam said sharply. “That might be the worst idea I’ve ever...”

Jo rubbed her temples. This was all getting so messy. No wonder Robi had gone bald.

“I’m gonna lose my hair from this--no Dean, you can’t torture him. There is a long list of reasons why you shouldn’t interrogate anyone, especially that man in particular. But I’ve got another job for you two. We’ll talk more when we get back to the Villa”

Dean swallowed, nodding. Jo could tell he wanted to object, but he just ran a hand through his hair. The poor guy looked exhausted, wrecked from whatever the last few days had done to him.

The four of them retraced the way Jo and Kevin had came, Kevin making small talk with the brothers as they went.

“You both look like hammered shit,” Kevin said.

Sam grinned, ruffling the shorter Assassin’s jet-black mop of hair. “Good to see you too, Kevin.”

“Yeah, you’d look like hell too if you’d been through what we had. We’ve seen some shit, amico. Ghosts, Templars, Thieves, Death itself…” Dean said, leading the way back. He travelled the tunnels with ease; Jo had a feeling the two of them knew more about these tunnels than anyone else in the Villa.

“Don’t talk about it. Not down here,” Jo whispered. She didn’t want any of their conversation echoing back to Michael’s cell. Just to be safe.

Dean held up his hands in surrender, shutting his mouth.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to be a buzzkill,” Jo mumbled.

Dean smiled at her over his shoulder, nearly stopping Jo in her tracks. There were dark bruises under his eyes, and despair was etched into every line of his face. His eyes looked black in the flickering torchlight. She had never seen him look more wrecked. Even after their battle of Monteriggioni, the first time she had seen him since he had been tortured, Dean had been...alive. He had looked alive. Now he just looked like a walking corpse .

Dean slowed down, reaching over to put a hand on Jo’s shoulder. “The legendary Joanna, Empress over the Assassins, leader of the Brotherhood, and Killer of all Buzzes.”

Kevin snorted out a laugh.

Sam nodded, his face expressionless and stern. “We ride for her, the Blesser of our Blades, and hope that one day we, too, can kill Buzzes as she so often does.”

Jo punched her cousins in the arm, one after the other. “You guys…”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah. We love you too.”

_____________

Jo sat back in her chair behind her massive desk, eyeing her cousins suspiciously. Dean tried his best to look as honest as he could; he and Sam lounged in the high-backed chairs across the room. Kevin leaned against the front of Jo’s desk, his arms crossed in front of him.

“That’s it, then? The whole story?”

Dean smiled, biting back a curse. He didn’t have a problem taking orders from Jo, he really didn’t. It just wasn’t something he was used to. At all. “Yeah. I think we covered everything.” _Everything except Cas kissing me. Or whatever was controlling Cas kissed me. Did that even happen? It seems so surreal, first he’s making out with me, now he’s gone._   

Sam nodded in agreement. “You leading the Assassins, Charlie heading up whatever is going to remain of the Thieves Guild, and no one running the Templars in Florence. Cas. Balthazar, and Gabriel seemed to flee the city. So much has changed...”

Jo nodded. “Crowli and the Guarda must be shitting themselves with joy. If they wanted to make new allies, now would be the time. I expect we’ll be hearing from one of our contacts within the police force within the next few days.”

“You guys really saw a ghost?” Kevin asked, tugging at his sleeve. “And that sucks about Cas. I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

Sam sat forward in his seat. “We don’t really know what it was, Kevin. I mean, we were pretty tired, and it had been a long night. The idea that it could be the ghost of La Volpe...”

“We have enough problems trying to deal with normal things, Kev,” Dean said blinking slowly. he recalled the image of the wispy white fox, how it had walked towards Charlie...No. He was fucked up, sure, but not fucked up enough to make something like that up. “Whether it was real or not, we’ve got enough shit on our plate. The last thing we need is to chase after ghosts.”

Jo nodded, shuffling a few papers on her desk. “Speaking of enough shit on your plates..”

“Music to my ears…” Dean mumbled. “Another job?”

“No rest for the weary,” Jo said. “And I know you guys are probably exhausted. You’ll have time to rest, but at the end of the week, I want you out of the city.”

“Why? Where are we going?” Sam asked.

Dean closed his mouth, the words of his cousin and leader echoing around in his head, as if he was underwater. Leave the city… leave his city. Leave Firenze, leave Monterrigioni? The city he knew like the back of his hand, the village he had defended from destruction only recently?

_Jo will take care of everyone here, the Brotherhood, the city_ , he thought, _fighting back panic. Michael is in our custody. That piece is off the board, at least for now. Okay, this might not be that bad._

_What if Cas comes back?_ A voice at the back of his head murmured. _What if he comes back, and you’re not here?_  Dean remembered how Cas had ignored Dean’s calls, his pleas. Hell, Dean had practically begged Cas to stop, to stay with him. _And it didn’t make a damn difference._

“What’s the assignment?” Dean asked, fighting back the rising anxiety that surfaced at the thought of what had happened to Castiel.

Jo took a deep breath, standing up from her chair and coming to lean against the desk beside Kevin. “We managed to get a good look at the ledger the Templars were after, the one you guys stole from the library in Firenze. You know, the one with the information on the sages.”

Kevin frowned, raising his eyebrows in confusion. “What’s a sage?”

Sam clasped his hands together, scooching even further towards the edge of his seat eagerly. Dean rolled his eyes. _Here we go,_ he thought, as Sam launched into explanation-mode.

“Throughout recorded history, people who we like to call Sages have cropped up in the record. They have abilities, visions, things that manifest from what we understand to be a connection to the First Civilization.”

Kevin nodded. “Like the Apple of Eden, that kind of thing?”

Jo nodded. “Exactly like that. We don’t really know what kind of power these sages might have, but they always show up with mismatched eyes. Robi has been working his way through birth records for years, trying to find evidence of them.”

Dean snorted. “Kinda funny we found the right book just as he bit it. Sorry, sorry,” He said at the look on Jo’s face. “So we found a possible sage?”

Jo nodded. “Two, actually. You two are going after one of them.”

“Who and where?”

Jo flipped through a few pages on her desk. “Uh, twenty year old named Adam Mille. Born in Florence, but we’ve tracked him to Venice. He’s studying medicine like you, Kevin.”

Kevin nodded. “They often try out new techniques in Venice, new science, new medicines. It’s a city of travel, of exchange. It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea for me to go with Sam and Dean, to get some experience.’’

Jo gave him an unreadable look. “We can talk about about that later.”

Dean scratched his chin. “And we haven’t even said if we were going yet.”

Jo and Sam turned to look at him then, eyes sharp.

“You’re not going?”

Sam gave her a tight smile. “Of course we’re going. We would need a bit of rest, obviously--”

“You have until the end of the week. I want you out of here and on your way to Forli by Thursday.”

“But..” Dean started.

Sam stood up. “That’s great, Jo. We can talk more towards the end of the week.” Dean sputtered as Sam practically dragged him out of the office, into the entrance chamber of the villa.

“You two get some rest, alright?” Jo said, her eyes flicking between the two brothers. “Whatever you think you need to do, it can wait until  tomorrow morning. You guys did really well with this one.”  

Sam smiled too wide at his cousin, waiting for the door to the office to close before slumping against the white wall. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dean shook his head. Sam let out only a deep sigh.

“What the--”

“I’m going to look for Cas.” Dean said, pushing past his brother and heading for the door.

Sam groaned behind him, jogging to keep up with his brother’s fast gait. “Did you not just hear what Jo said?”

Dean marched on, out through the doors of the villa. The late afternoon sunlight cast the whole of the sprawling villa in a warm orange glow.

“Look, would you just stop and think for a second?” Sam shouted, grabbing Dean's shoulder.

Dean whirled to face his brother, fighting to keep his arms at his sides. “Look, man, every hour that we relax here is another hour that he gets farther and farther away. I need to figure out where he was headed before the trail goes any colder than it already fucking is.”

Dean stumbled, his foot catching on a loose stone on the patio, his eyes stinging. “Dammit. I never should have let him get away.”

“Dean, it’s not your fault. And you can’t even walk.” Sam said, coming to stand in front of him, blocking his brother’s path.

“I just tripped, okay? I can walk fine.”

Sam sighed--again. Dean noticed just how exhausted his brother looked, his eyes puffy and his shoulders slumped. “Dean, it’s been a day and a half. Cas is out of the city, he’s long gone. That doesn’t mean we’re not going to find him, it just means he already has a day’s jump on us. And we’re not gonna be able to find him if we’re dead-men-walking.”

Dean bit his lip, meeting his brother’s exhausted gaze with his own. he knew there was fear in his eyes, he couldn’t hide it. “I’m scared, Sammy. All this, this is all new.”

Sam stepped forward, wrapping his brother in a warm embrace. “I know. And yeah, I’m scared with you. He’s my friend, too.”

“Is he? I thought you hated the bastard,” Dean said, blinking back tears and swallowing the lump in his throat.  

Sam chuckled. “His puppy eyes kinda grow on you, I guess. But we’ll find him, or he’ll work his way back to us. Insanely high-powered parasitic tag-along thing aside. Cas knows his way home.”

Dean was silent for a moment, not wanting to let Sam go. He remembered a time not so long ago, when he had been strapped to a rack in a dark hole, a time when he couldn’t imagine ever wrapping his arms around his brother again. _Cas got me out. It’s because of Cas that I can do this._ _Time to return the favor._

“And if he can’t make it, we’ll just go to him.” Dean said, pulling away from his brother.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, we can start by asking around the city. Maybe Garth or his girls have heard something. Or we can ask around Charlie’s new court. Let’s stay the night here, spend some time with Ellen. We’ll leave in the morning.”

“What am I supposed to do until then?” Dean said, following Sam back into the villa.

Sam shrugged. “You can try praying. That’s what  Mom would say.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, right.”

_Maybe I just might._

_________________

Dean should have passed out as soon as he hit the bed. Every bone in his body ached after the long day’s ride, following the events of the previous day.

_We fucking caught Michael. The leader of the Templars,_ Dean marveled. _Dad would be proud. Not that it matters...no, not that it should matter. Maybe Mom would be proud too. Mom...Sam said I should pray. Maybe then I can sleep. Maybe then I can finally get some goddamn rest._

He rolled out of bed, his knees thudding as they hit the wooden floor. _Ouch_.

_Uh, okay. God? Uh, I guess this is for God. To God, I mean._

_God, this sounds dumb. I mean, it doesn’t really sound dumb, since this is all in my head. I’m thinking it._ “Maybe if I say it aloud it’ll sound less” _...nope. Still sound like a fucking idiot._

_Okay, then. This is about Cas. Castiel. I just...I just hope he’s okay. Maybe keep an eye out for him. He’s got some really bad shit, er, I mean stuff, going on. He could probably use a bit of heavenly help more than the average Joe. Get one of those heavenly agents on him, uh, please. If anyone needs an angel looking out for his ass, I mean, himself, it’s Cas. So please, uh God or Jesus or whoever’s listening… watch out for him. I’m on my way, and I’m gonna drag his sorry ass home if it kills me._

_Uh, thanks. I suppose I’ll try to pray for that asshole every now and again._

___________

Castiel dreamed, passed out in the berth of a boat packed with traveling civilians, tourists bound for the city on the water.

He dreamed of colors. Dark ocean currents, trickling water, blue skies, green pastures, the yellow brick of Florence.    

Voices colored his dreams. First, voices of his companions, the familiar timbre of Balthazar blending with the bright, coppery tones of Gabriel’s voice, chatting sleepily in the bunks around him.

Those voices merged with the sounds of the rest of the people on the ship: the other passengers in the hull, the sailors scattered across the deck, manning the wheel. Then the animals, A few cats that shouldn’t have been there; they snuck into the boat in a crate of smuggled goods. Gulls nested in the ropes and rigging. Mice and rats in the woodwork, competing for space and food. All these presences manifested as sounds, all their voices melded together into sheets of color.   

Then, below all the colors, the noise. The voice. _Castiel._

Cas rolled over in his bunk, shifting away from the presence.

_Castiel, Let me out. Let me back out, Castiel. You know you want to rest, Cas. Cas, Cas, Castiel, you liked the release. You’re a soldier, Castiel. You hate doing things on your own. You need a leader, someone to tell you what to do. Be a good soldier, let me take control. Freedom is an illusion, the Templars taught you that…_

On and on through the night, the voice continued, a low hum just barely audible, just barely detectable over the variations of his surroundings.

He sank into the inviting tone of the voice, the cold current of _Castiel, Castiel,_ dragging him deeper and deeper, away from the rest of the noise. _Rest, rest. You don’t need to be in control anymore. The mistakes, the choices, they can all go away. Let me help you._

“Uh, okay. God?”

Another voice, loud and clear as if it were right beside Castiel. _Dean?_

“Uh, I guess this is for God. To God, I mean.”

The presence of the new voice cut through the chaos in Castiel’s head, drowning out the murmurs and the buzz, the ambient sound replaced with solid words, and a voice that was familiar and strong and so unbelievably _there_.

“Okay, then. This is about Cas. Castiel. I just...I just hope he’s okay. Maybe keep an eye out for him.”

Dean...Dean was asking about him? Asking God...about him. Dean was praying for him, and Cas was hearing it.

“If anyone needs an angel looking out for his ass--I mean, himself, it’s Cas. So please, uh God or Jesus or whoever’s listening… watch out for him. I’m on my way, and I’m gonna drag his sorry ass home if it kills me. ”

Cas let the dark, murmuring voice fade away, chased off by the sound of Dean’s prayers.

“Uh, thanks. I suppose I’ll try to pray for that asshole every now and again.”

_Same,_ Castiel thought drearily, _even though it makes no sense that I should hear you, my friend._

He slipped back fully into unconsciousness, protected by the memory, the lingering warm color of Dean’s voice.

He slept soundly, dreamless, for the rest of the night.  

 

 


	44. A Tale of Two Cities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam work to track down Castiel; meanwhile Cas and Balthazar get set up in Venice. 
> 
> LOTS OF FEELINGS I HAVE ABOUT THIS CHAPTER
> 
>  
> 
> I don't have time to write a longer summary happy fourth of july everyone, god bless chris evan's ass

“Wake up, jackass. We’ve docked.”

Castiel rolled over in his bunk, the prickly sheets rough against his bare chest. “Hnng…”

Something soft hit the back of Castiel’s head, pulling him from his dreamless sleep. “What?” He pulled the thing off his head--it was a clean-smelling linen shirt, light blue and soft to the touch. “Why are you...throwing clothes at me…”

Balthazar laughed beside the bed. “Get up, Cas. We’re in Venice. Gabriel’s on the top deck, says he managed to nick us a few cinnamon buns from the crew’s kitchen.”

Cas groaned, swiveling his body and rolling to the side. He placed his bare feet on the floor, stretching every muscle in his body for what felt like the first time in weeks. Bones and joints popped and creaked as he flexed his arms, then torso, then finally his legs, down to his chilly feet.

“How long was I out?” Castiel asked, pulling the blue shirt on over his head. “And what did you do to my stuff?”

Balthazar shrugged. He wasn’t wearing anything that would identify him as a Templar, just plain black leather breeches and boots, paired with a white blousy shirt with puffy sleeves, and a dark brown sailor’s vest over that. “Well, you’ve been in and out for two days. The weather here has been pretty bad. Gabe thinks it would have been easier to walk from Florence, fuck’s sake.”

Cas grabbed his boots from the foot of his bed, lacing them up as he repeated calmly, “Where’s my stuff.”

“Oh, your rags? Gabe wanted to burn them. Relax,” Balthazar said, holding up a hand at Castiel’s pursed lips. “We didn’t, he’s got them, and my jerkin and our blades, our rings, anything tying us to the order--he’s got it all in a rucksack up on deck. Where we would be, right now, if you didn’t make me flap my damn jaw for so long. Now, if your majesty pleases…?” Balthazar said, bowing, and gesturing towards a ladder a few feet from Castiel’s bunk.

Cas looked around the quarters; the last thing he remembered, he was tied to the mast of the boat. “What happened?”

Balthazar moved up the ladder, looking down to make sure Castiel followed him. “Yeah, nasty storm. The captain moved everyone down here, into the sailor’s quarters. Not enough room for everyone, truth be told--Gabriel and I had to share a bunk, and from what I understand, you ended up spooning with some pretty wench.”

Cas felt his face flush red as he emerged out into the blinding sunlight, the sky clear of any clouds from the previous night’s storm. “Really?”

Balthazar grinned. “Yeah, you were passed out, though. She needed the bunk, there wasn’t a lot of room, so we told her she could snuggle up to you. Poor thing looked like she needed the warmth, honestly.”

“Well, I’m glad I could be of help.” Cas said, rubbing the back of his head. _Why does it seem like I’m forgetting a lot more than what I’m remembering all of a sudden? Black-outs... I need to get them under control._

Castiel scanned the deck of the ship, taking in his surroundings. The deck of the ship was nearly empty, save from a small cluster of sailors near the port side of the ship, and Gabriel leaning against the mainmast.  Gabriel grinned at the sight of the Templars, waving at Cas and Balthazar to follow him off the gangplank and onto the dock.

“‘Bout time you woke up, princess. Here’s your shit,” Gabriel said, tossing a burlap sack at Cas. He heard the clanging of metal on metal as the blades banged against each other inside the bag.

Cas raised an eyebrow at his commander. “Balthazar said you might have cinnamon buns.”

Gabriel dipped his head, a twinkle in his eye. “Maybe. Here, for my two favorite brothers,” Gabe said, tossing them each a pastry. “Which is officially our cover story. You two are brothers, from Florence. You can’t go by your real names anymore, don’t give them out to anyone. Your new names are Niccolo and Emmanuel."

Gabriel passed them both a set of documents proving their new identities.

Cas wrinkled his brow in disgust. "Emmanuel?"

Gabriel grinned, leading the two Templars off the gangplank and onto the docks. Merchants, sailors, passengers, and urchins milled around in the morning heat. A foggy sheet of mist hanging over the water like a blanket, stubbornly hanging onto the surface of the water as the sun approached its zenith, threatening to burn the mist away.

The trio maneuvered them around a group of fishermen unloading barrels and crates from a barge. "If you can think of a better name, hombre, be my guest," Gabriel said. "But to everyone in this town, you boys are dockworkers, with no ties to the Templar Order."

Balthazar frowned. "I thought that you said we'd be working closely with the Order in Venezia."

"I did, before Michael put out a bounty on Castiel's head. Now his pretty face is worth twenty thousand florins." Gabriel whispered.

Balthazar raised his eyebrows and let out a low whistle. "Dead or alive? I could really use a new pair of shoes, and twenty thousand florins and..."

Cas gave him a withering look, silencing his friend. "But Michael's been incarcerated by the Assassins. He's not in much of a position to be calling for my capture."

Gabe shook his head, his expression serious. "You _think_ he's been nabbed. Who knows if he even made it into custody with those kids? He's got supporters all over the country too, people who owe him favors, people with skills, people who could infiltrate a prison if they needed to. The power of every Templar resource is in his hands and you think a little cell is gonna keep him locked down? If he's been captured, it's because he wanted to be. And people are still going to be after you, because they know he’ll pay up eventually."

Cas nodded, running a hand through his hair. That all made sense.

"We'll talk more at your safehouse. It's a few blocks to the north. You two been to Venezia before?" Gabriel called over his shoulder, leading Balthazar and Castiel off the stone dock, and into the city.

Cas shook his head, marveling at the sights around him. He had never been to Venice, but had heard much about La Serenissima.  He took in the atmosphere of the city around him, trying to wrap his head around everything that was happening, tuning out the sound of Balthazar’s account of when he came here when he was a young boy.  

There was so much color. That was the first thing Castiel noticed about the city. The Adriatic sea behind them, crystal-clear blue as the sky above, sparkled in the sunlight as it lapped around the little brown boats on the horizon. The brightly painted buildings--reds, blues, oranges, and white, planes and planes of icy white all around, stretching from the cold rivers that made up the city’s streets high up to the rooftops--on either side of the trio towered high and close around them, creating narrower streets than he was used to in Florence.

Moving through Venice felt so different that the feeling he got when he moved around his Firenze, too. There, everything was a blanched shade of yellow, red, and brown, scorched by the hot air and the politics of a city managed by corruption.

Cas wasn’t naive, and he wasn’t stupid. He knew every city had it’s share of corruption, and eyeing the shadowy corners of the squares they passed through, he thought he saw a few pickpockets and thugs. _Even if it’s just a new, fresh hell,_ Cas mused, as they stopped outside a run-down looking white building. _At least it’s fresh._

“Home sweet home…?” Balthazar asked, following Gabriel into the building. The ground floor was empty, apart from a chaotic mass of what looked like old fishing supplies. Gabriel nodded, motioning for them to follow him up a set of stairs in the rear of the room. Cas and Balthazar tripped after him, trying hard not to catch their boots on loose netting and jagged, rotted two-by-fours.

“I’ve got a contact from The Order in this city coming to meet with you boys in a few hours. Do NOT tell them your real names. Raphael runs this city, and she has been in with Michael since before even I was around. If she finds out that the head Michael wants is just sitting pretty in her city…” Gabriel shook his head, pushing open a door at the top of the stairs.

The room was simple: two beds, a small table with a pair of chairs, a chest, a dresser. A wood stove sat in one corner, a chamber pot in the other. A framed painting hung on one wall, depicting a generic Tuscan countryside. A single window occupied the wall between the two beds, looking out onto the loading docks, where fishers and crewmen loaded and unloaded nets, barrels, and baskets of today’s catch.

“Gotcha a view, see?” Gabriel said. “Don’t ever say I didn’t do anything for you, okay?”

Cas nodded. “Gabriel, I... thank you for getting me out of Florence. I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me here, protect me from Michael and everything, but--”

Gabe held up a hand. “Say no more. But just because you’re a wanted man, that doesn’t mean this a fugitive operation, don’t forget that. You two idiots are still functioning under the protection of the Templar Order. And you’ve got a mission.” Gabriel said, pulling a folded up set of papers from his breeches. “Everything you need to know about the Sage in this city is in those documents. Read ‘em, memorize ‘em, burn ‘em.”

Balthazar moved to take the documents, scanning them quickly. “Adam Mille. Twenty. Medical Student, one green eye, one blue. Dirty-blonde haired. Is this all you've got?"

Gabriel flopped down onto one of the beds, lying on his back with his legs dangling over the side. "Public records only go so far. Locate him, and if you can, we want to keep this civil. See if you can get him to work with us. Offer him money, knowledge, whatever. Lie to him if you need to, you know the drill. If diplomacy fails, we aren't above kidnapping. But we need him alive, if we're to test on him."

Cas nodded, though the word _test_ sent a shiver between his shoulder blades. "Do we report to you, or someone else in the city?"

Gabriel sat up, focusing his golden eyes on Castiel. Cas fought not to shiver, wondering how much the man knew about his "psychotic break"; what could his commander possibly be thinking? He hadn't been acting like himself in days, possessed by the Voice since they left Firenze. Did he think Cas was insane? He couldn't possibly suspect the truth, that Cas was being possessed by a force that grew stronger each time he tried to figure out more about it.

For a moment, Cas thought about confessing to Gabriel, telling him everything he had been struggling with for the past few weeks. The Voice, the healing powers, the ability to kill with a touch. How he had been working with the Assassins.

But Gabriel looked away, and the moment was gone.

"No, brother, you two are doing this one on your own. I'm getting out of town. I might go back to Florence, because Santa Carlotta is probably a wreck--then again, I hear Greece is beautiful this time of year. Depends on what kind of mood I'm in. Either way, if I stuck around here I'd blow your cover. One of Raphael's people would see me skulking around her city, hanging out with the two of you, and they'd start poking their noses in places they shouldn't." Gabriel stood up, going to look out the window. "No, you'll be working closely with my contact. She should show up sometime this evening, after I leave. Again, don't tell her your real names. Only discuss the capture of the sage with her. She’s not an authority figure to you boys, though."

Balthazar flipped through the final few documents before handing them to his companion.

"Some vacation this is turning out to be."  

Gabriel turned, clapping Balthazar on the back. "Don't be so glum, ey? There's all kinds of fun stuff going on in this town. City on the water, right? I hear there's a masquerade festival coming up. You should go, have fun! It wouldn't kill either of you to get a date, or loosen up a little."

Cas grinned politely, his thoughts turning back to his friends. Charlie, Sam, Dean...were they okay? Had they made it out with Michael in captivity after all, or had the Templar leader thwarted their schemes?

Gabriel interrupted his thoughts with a warm hug. Cas froze, patting his commander on the back after a moment.

Gabriel pulled away, smiling at him, his eyes betraying a layer of longing and pain. Cas nearly cocked his head in confusion. Maybe he really wanted to stay here with Castiel and Balthazar, tracking down targets and working undercover.

"See you boys later, then. Good luck!" Gabriel called, heading down the stairs before shouting back at them.

Cas hesitated, then said quietly, "Why does it matter?"

Gabriel stopped, turning to face him with an eyebrow raised. "…Sorry?"

"I said, why does it matter? If we're basically on the run from The Order, why do we give a shit about finding a Sage? Why does it matter?" Castiel said bitterly, sucking in a deep breath in surprise at his own words. He had never really questioned Gabriel before. He had too much respect for his commander to ever doubt him. Gabriel tilted his head at his Captain.

Gabriel stepped towards him, placing a hand on Cas' shoulder. "Did I ever tell you the story of where you got your name, Castiel? And what it means?"

Cas opened his mouth in surprise, completely blindsided by the turn the conversation had taken. "Uh, no."

"Well, it's an interesting story. And it's short, too.” Gabriel said, heading back up the stairs towards Cas and Balthazar. “I found you and your little sister on the doorstep of the Santa Carlotta, one chilly summer night about twenty...twenty four years ago? God, I don't remember. I was like, fourteen or fifteen or something--crazy young. She couldn't have been more than a year old. But anyway, I was the one that found you. Anna was easy, her name was stitched into the blanket she was swaddled in. But you, you were almost five, I think. You were almost five, and you wouldn't tell us your name. Banging on the front door of the church, barely speaking any sense. I remember pulling you inside, your little shoulders shaking all over. You were barely big enough to carry your tiny sister, do you remember that?"

Cas shook his head, mumbling "No, I don't remember anything of my time before The Order."

"Well, your little shoulders were shaking, and you were skinny and sun-baked--looked like you walked all across Italia just to show up at my door in the middle of the night. Who knows, maybe you did. But I said ‘What's your name?’ And you shrugged. So I shook your shoulders and asked you where you came from and you thought I was trying to hurt your little sister, so you turned to shield her with your back. With your tiny little body, and all your strength, you wanted so desperately to protect her."

Balthazar coughed from behind them. "I thought you said this story was going to be short."

Gabriel held up a finger. "I'm getting there. I have a point. So Michael said I was going to be the one to take care of you two, since I found you. I was all like, 'seriously? babysitting duty?' Thought you were gonna be a burden then, but you two leeches really grew on me. Anyway, since I was the one that found you on the doorstep, Michael also said I had the duty of naming you. Names have meaning, see. So I thought of how you protected your sister while I picked through a book with a bit of meaning, the Bible."

Balthazar chuckled. "Like the religious fellow you are."

Gabriel shot him a dirty look. "I thought of some protective figures…I considered Abraham, Moses, Jacob…none of them seemed to fit."

"Then I saw a few mentions of angels. Thought I might pick one of those names out for you, since I got my own archangel title." Gabriel said with a shrug. "Thought we could kind of…be like a team, you know? Or a family, or some shit. I was a soft kid, what can I say? Anyway, I did some more digging, even went into the library. I really wanted to pick a good name for you, Cas."

Castiel nodded in understanding as Balthazar groaned from behind him, "Get on with it, would you?"

"Fine. It means Shield of God, or Protector." Gabriel said, keeping his eyes locked on Cas'. "You protected your sister, time and time again. And your name means you're a soldier first, Castiel. And whether we work directly or indirectly with the Order, we stand together: you, me, and Balthy."

"Do not EVER call me--" Balthazar growled, only to be interrupted by the rest of Gabriel's speech.

As to why we need the Sage, I'm going to need you to trust me on this one. Power is power, whether or not it's going to the Templars or not."

Cas narrowed his eyes, but he didn't disagree. "Basically you're saying 'do this because I told you to'?"

Gabriel smiled wide, flashing his teeth. "Couldn't have said it better myself. That, wrapped up in some syrupy sentiment." He clapped his hands, heading for the door. "Good talk. Go team!"

"And don't fuck it up!" Gabriel shouted over his shoulder as the door closed behind him.

Cas closed his eyes, waiting for the sound of the door closing to release a sigh.

"Well, that sure  was…Interesting." Balthazar said, his shoulders falling as he headed back into their quarters.

"It is exhausting hanging around with him. He's too much a trickster for his own good."

"I could not agree more," Cas said, following his partner back into their new room. "How long did he say until his contact shows up?"

"Uh, sometime this evening." Balthazar said, opening cabinets and searching the room for anything edible.

Cas sighed, picking up the documents about their target. "We should memorize these before she gets here."

"Already did. While you two were having your feelings talk." Balthazar said, pulling a dusty looking wine bottle from a cabinet near the woodstove. "Gabriel and I didn't talk about your abilities, by the way. I covered for you the best I could, but he started to suspect that you weren't acting like yourself after you took a swing at him."

Cas ran a hand through his hair, moving to rummage through the chests and drawers. "Son of a--okay."

"What're you doing now, you absolute monkey?" Balthazar asked, after a long pull from the wine bottle.

Cas shook his head. "Uh, have you seen a blank sheet of paper around? Or a quill? I want to get a letter out."

"Excuse me, did the words ‘undercover mission’ go over your head? Because that is what we are on, right now." Balthazar said, his voice rising in pitch and volume. "We are on an undercover mission, and you want to be pen pals? I'm assuming it's with Dean, too. That half-crazed Assassin?"

Cas bit his lip, continuing his search for paper and pen. "I have to let them know that I'm safe, at least. I won't tell them anything about the mission. I could give a rat's ass about…"

Balthazar put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, speaking gently. "Look, Cassie. There's a reason we are sitting here, in this shite room far away from home. And that reason is the recipient of the letter that you are not going to write.”

Cas rolled his eyes, and Balthazar shook his shoulder. “Think about it. Gabriel got you out of Florence, saved your damn life. Because Michael wants your head. Because you betrayed him, and effectively the Order, all for some pitiful, meaningless Assassins."

"They are not meaningless." Cas said, shaking Balthazar's hand from his back. "Every life has meaning, Balthazar."

Balthazar shook his head, narrowing his eyes. "I don't know how they got to you, brother. But you need to realize that the Assassins are what got you into this mess. They. Are. Not. Our. Friends. I was ready to support you, and by extension them, in your efforts against Roman. But the time for a common enemy has passed."

Cas shook his head, not bothering to respond as he moved to search the burlap bag, the one containing his dirty overcoat and blade.

Balthazar threw his hands up. "All you're going to do is get him killed, you know."

Castiel froze, his hands deep in the bag. "…What?"

"The Assassin. Dean.  I see the way you look at him, you dense motherfucker. But how long do you think you can keep this "Voice" thing reined in? How long until it takes you over completely, how long until you snap and hurt someone close to you?"

Cas took in a shaky breath, replaying again the scene where Dean had chased after him as they fled the city, begging him to stop, to see sense, to come back to himself. He could feel the pain in his wrists as he remembered grabbing his friend from atop his horse, smiling wickedly, and pitching him out of the saddle and onto the hard pavement. "I could have killed him," he whispered aloud, horrified.

Balthazar nodded. "I don't want to be the one to have to tell you this, mate. But until we get you under control, and the sage in custody, I think it's best if we lay low."

Cas blinked, trying to reconcile what he knew with his feelings, his duties with what he felt to be true. "But I…I helped them. My powers healed Dean, it…" He sighed. "You're right. This thing is starting to get out of hand. And I need to keep people I care about away from me."

Balthazar shook his head after a long look from Castiel. "Not me, mate. You're stuck with me, for better or for worse. Do you know how fast Gabriel would put a foot in my arse if he found out I'd abandoned you, his favorite little soldier?" Balthazar pinched Cas' cheek, after which the dark haired Templar slapped him away.

"Why is everyone touching me?" Cas mumbled, closing the burlap sack with his belongings tightly.

Balthazar tapped the stack of papers with information on the sage; Cas had left it discarded on the bed in his search. "Read up. I'll get a fire going for these. That contact is going to be here soon, and we need to be ready, Emmanuel."

______________

 

"The brothers Vincense! It's so good to see you guys again!" Garth said, managing to wrap his spindly arms around both Sam and Dean in a surprisingly warm hug. Dean frowned, patting Garth awkwardly on the back and bouncing his eyebrows at Sam, mouthing the word weirdo. Sam smiled, mouthing Shut up back to his brother and returning their skinny friend's embrace. Sam was glad to see Garth at least, and he knew Dean was too. His older brother just had a hard time showing it sometimes.

"It's really good to see you too, Garth." Sam said. He knew they probably smelled like horse, after the ride from the villa early that morning. But Garth didn't seem to mind, pulling them through the door of the Rosa Colta. The whorehouse was quiet, most of the courtesans were out on the streets or sleeping off the previous night's events. Either that, or off spending their hard-earned coin. Garth led them through the main foyer, the hallway sparkling with polished white marble interiors, and to the garden attached to the rear of the whorehouse. He gestured to a pair of servant boys near a set or delicately-detailed wrought iron chairs, and they scurried off. Garth lowered himself into one of the chairs, leaving Sam and Dean to share a slightly too-small bench. Red and pink roses curled through the garden, twirling around a wooden archway overhead.

"So, you two wouldn't come around unless shit was on fire. I heard you nabbed Michael."

Dean frowned. "Oh yeah? Where'd you hear that?"

Garth smiled. "Well, now I know my sources are good. I've been speaking with the girl who's in charge of the new Thieves Guild. She said she knew you."

Sam nodded. "Charlie's a good friend. And she's someone you want on your side."

"Yeah, I gathered that. I think we've got an alliance cooking. Diplomacy and all that. But we've always been close with the Guild, so I'm not very concerned."

The servants returned with a tray of meats, cheese, deep-red strawberries, and sparkling cider, setting the tray on the table between Garth and the Vincense brothers. 

"Well, it certainly was bold to go after Michael. How'd you get him?" Garth asked, leaning forward.

A corner of Dean's mouth pulled up in a crooked grin. "We fooled him. Pretended to be Death himself."

"He didn't actually believe that." Garth said. It wasn't a question.

Sam  raised his eyebrows. "Who knows. But the ruse scared off enough of his supporters to make a difference." 

"That's incredible. What a great plan," Garth said, his eyes unfocused. "And I'm glad you got the prick that got Robi. He was…really important to me, and to you guys I'm sure. He was a good man. And I'm glad you did, don't get me wrong, but I'm really surprised you got him."

Dean laughed. "Us too. If it weren't for this wrist gun, it probably wouldn't have worked."

Garth sucked in a breath. "A wrist gun? For real? I've heard about that, studied some of Da Vinci's designs--can I see it?" 

Dean nodded, unstrapping the apparatus from his wrist as Sam cleared his throat. _Don't forget, we're here for information_. Sam gave Dean a hand signal, scratching his left ear with the fourth finger on his right hand. _Bribe_.

Dean saw, nodding and snatching a pile of neatly folded meat from the table. "Sure, buddy. One catch, though. We need information."

Garth nodded, his eyes wide and honest. "Sure. You guys know I'll help you out. We're family."

Sam smiled, a twinge of guilt tugging at his mind. Maybe he shouldn't have suggested they bribe the Leader of the Rosa. Garth was right, he was practically family, someone who would aid them no matter what. Nothing would ever change that.

_But it doesn't hurt to be cautious._

Sam took a deep breath, meeting Garth's gaze. "We're looking for information on a certain person. A Templar. Last seen fleeing the city, two days ago, on horseback.  Accompanied by two other Templars. He may have been acting strangely, even violently."

Garth nodded, blinking in confusion. "I can ask the girls if they saw anything weird. What's he look like?"

"Dark hair, blue eyes. Last seen wearing a long overcoat and acting like a douche." Dean replied. 

Garth nodded, motioning for one of the servants. He relayed the information to the boy, who ran off back into the building. "It's going to take a few hours to round up all the ladies, see if they've heard anything about your Templar." 

Sam nodded snatching a few strawberries from the tray of h'orsderves. "Thanks, Garth." 

"Is this the guy Charlie talked about?" Garth asked, eyes wide with curiosity. He tugged on the fur sleeve of his robe. "Castiel, right? 

Sam raised an eyebrow. "That's him."

Garth took a sip of a crystal goblet, shaking his head. "Seems complicated between you three."

Sam snorted. "That's one way to put it."

Dean stood up, grabbing another handful of sliced cheese. "Well, we've actually got a couple more leads to track down in the city. We might be going out of town for a while, and I want to see if we can track him down before we leave."

Garth nodded. "Where are you guys going? Or can you not say?"

"It's fine, I think. We're heading to Venice by the end of the week. Other than that, we can't tell you much." Sam replied. 

"Ooo, the City on the Water. Gorgeous. You guys ever been before?"

Sam shook his head as Dean answered. "Yeah, actually."

"When did we go to Venice?" Sam asked, surprised. He had no memory of ever being there.

Dean shrugged, stuffing more food into his mouth before washing it all down with a gulp of cider “…It was when you were little. Real little. Mom wanted to go for a festival. Fireworks or something. She and Dad met there. Did you know that?"

Sam shook his head, mystified. "No…I didn't. Dad never…talked about it."

Dean grinned, his expression sour and taut. "Yeah, well. Dad wasn't much for holiday weekends after Mom…" He knocked back he last of his glass of cider.

Sam's attention returned to Garth, whose eyes were flicking suspiciously between the two brothers. "You guys got some issues."

 "Yep." Dean nodded, tossing Garth his wrist gun and clapping him on the shoulder before making his way towards the high wrought iron fence enclosing the garden. "Party on, Garth. We'll be back in a few hours. And I want my gun back after that!"

Sam gave Garth an apologetic smile, following his brother over the ten foot tall fence, cursing Dean all the while. 

"You make it over okay?" Dean asked when Sam finally caught up to him.

Sam gave his brother a soft punch in the arm. "Yeah. My robe almost caught on the spires on top of the fence, though."

"Good thing you know how to sew." 

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "It didn't rip. Are we gonna try Charlie next?"

Dean shook his head. "I got one other thread I want to pull on first."

 ______________

 

Dean pushed his way into the corrections office nearest the Rosa, striding up to the pair of Guarda at the desk in the office.  Sam followed from a few feet back, wondering what sort of serial killer he must have been in a past life to get stuck with a brother as unhinged as Dean.

"Hello, yes. I'd like to speak to a Signore Crowli. I believe he's the new guard captain?" Dean asked innocently, flashing a bright smile at the teenager behind the counter. Sam could smell the kid's cologne from across the room, and fought not to wrinkle his nose.

"Uh, the Captain isn't…he doesn't  just sit around at Guard stations, and he doesn't see anyone without an appointment."

Dean nodded, his expression serious and his tone understanding. "Ah, I see. Could you tell me where I could find him at this hour?"

The young officer gulped, a bead of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"That's what I thought." Dean said to the young Guarda. "Sam, he's in the building. Go eagle on him, yeah?" 

Sam nodded,  slipping into his sixth sense. "Way ahead of you." He swiveled his head, his vision shifting into shades of blue. His brother glowed gold, the two Guarda in the room glowing red. He expanded his vision, pushing the bubble  of his awareness as far as the edges of the police compound.

 "You're right. He's here. He's at the end of the hallway, in what I think is a library, or an office. Alone. No guards at the door."

Dean clucked his tongue. "He's getting cocky. Not a good thing for someone in a position of power. But thank you,"  he said, turning back to the Guarda at the desk and flashing another smile. "You've been very helpful."

The officer blinked, his mouth hanging open stupidly as Dean winked, heading around the counter and through the hallway behind them. Sam followed his brother's quick pace at a jog.

"What the hell was that? Crowli is your plan? You're going to ask from help from Crowli? The guy who had you tortured, imprisoned, nearly killed? That same Crowli?"

"No, Sam, the other Crowli we know. You know, who would also be found in a police office, but he's, like, a lot nicer than the Crowli you're thinking of. Likes to bake in his spare time, has an affinity for classic romance novels." Dean drawled calmly, then spitting "Of course it's the same fucking Crowli. I know this is nuts. But we need to know what happened to Cas. He was allied with the Templars for a while, we know that at least."

Sam widened his eyes, shaking his brother's shoulder. "Dean, Garth is looking into it, and we can still ask Charlie…"

Dean turned, giving him a withering look. "Maybe. But if there's a chance he knows where Cas went, I need to check him out. Are you with me or not?" 

Sam groaned, as the two stopped outside the door where Crowli's fuzzy, red outline had stood moments before in Sam's vision. "Yeah, I'm with you, asshole. Just tell me next time you go charging in, seducing desk clerks and threatening people's lives. It wouldn’t hurt to know what the plan was before shit started hitting the fan." 

Dean knocked a knuckle on the door, clasping his hands in front of his waist afterwards. "When did I ever threaten anyone's life?"

The door opened, and a very disgruntled looking Guard Captain stuck his head out the door. "Bloody…can't a gentleman at my level of authority take a fucking nap without being interrupted by…" 

Dean smiled as Crowli's voice trailed off. "Oh, it's you." Crowli said, rage replaced with resentful disinterest. "Well, come in, I guess. You here to kill me?"

"Not today," Sam replied with a nervous smile.

“Probably.” Dean added. “Probably not going to kill you today.”

Crowli cocked his head at the taller brother. "Never seen this one before. You the moose?"

Sam shook his head.  "I don't really know what that is."

"Big, tall animal. Have 'em in the north, Scandinavia and the like." Crowli said. The Guard Captain had dark bags under his eyes, and was wearing what looked like a red velvet bathrobe. If Sam had to guess, he would suppose the man wasn't wearing anything underneath the long robe.

Crowli's “office” (it looked to be more fit for a siesta than a day of work) was sparsely furnished but elegant, a set of plush armchairs clustered near a crackling fire, and a stack of what looked like (you guessed it) romance novels sat on a table next to a couch. Crowli motioned for the brothers to sit down, moving to fix himself a drink from a collection of crystal glass bottles behind a heavy wooden desk. 

"Well, if you were here to kill me, you'd have done it by now, so I assume you want to do business. Drink?" Crowli asked, offering a bottle of amber liquid towards the brothers. Dean nodded, seemingly unconcerned by the prospect of being poisoned by someone who had made an attempt on his life before. Crowli nodded, reaching for a set of glasses that matched the decanter. "Please, sit. Otherwise I’ll feel short and insignificant." 

Dean grinned, accepting a glass from Crowli with a dipped head and sitting down in red arm chair, paisley stitching arcing across the upholstery. "Bet it's not the first time."

Crowli frowned. "Watch it." 

Sam sat down across from his brother, trying to hide his fear as he watched Crowli mix a drink for the tall Assassin. "Well, I can honestly say I'm surprised to see you boys. Not got very good senses of self preservation, have you?" 

He passed Sam a glass, which he kept politely between his hands. _No way I am drinking that, he thought._

Dean shook his head. "Nope. That we don't. But you’re right. We do want something from you."

"And what's that, pray tell?" Crowli said, leaning against his desk.

Sam cleared his throat. "We're wondering if you've seen a certain Templar."

Crowli took a draw from the amber liquid, straight from the bottle. "Maybe you should ask the Templars."

Dean shook his head. "We're asking you. Castiel, you might have met him before. He's skipped town, and we need to know where he's gone. Last seen with two other Templars, fleeing their base on horseback "

Crowli narrowed his eyes. "Ever since you dopes nabbed Michael, the Templars have been a mess. I haven't been able to speak to my moles, they're too scared to pop their heads out from underground. I expect they'll resurface in  a week or two, with whatever interim leader they have until Michael works his way back to them. And yes, I'm familiar with the fellow. Didn't seem to like me very much when I met him. I assume you were going to bribe me with something for information on your target?" 

Dean nodded, pulling a fat coinpurse from his belt and pitching it to the Guard Captain. Crowli caught it, nearly dropping the crystal decanter in his other hand.

"Seriously? Gold?" Crowli said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You think a rich man's wallet is going to make me want to help you?"

Dean dipped his head in acknowledgement, tipping the contents of his glass down his throat. Sam watched in horror as his brother swallowed the liquor. _Please don't be poisoned._

"Maybe you're interested in gold, maybe you're not. But you like this game, the Templars vs Assassins bitchfight. You want in, which is why you almost tortured me to death for information you weren't even sure was useful. You're desperate to get in on this." Dean said, flicking his forearm and sliding out his hidden blade. He turned his wrist, admiring the way the flickering firelight reflected off the side of the edge. Sam saw Crowli’s eyes lock onto the blade in rapt attention. 

Dean continued. "You think there is some kind of power here, conquest, a war to be won, riches to be shared. Losing parties to rape and pillage like some sort of crazed barbarian."

Dean twisted his wrist, and the hidden blade slid back into its sheath. He stood, walking over to Crowli lazily. Sam watched, every muscle in his body tense, as his brother stepped right up to Crowli, close enough that he could have kissed the bastard, taking the decanter out of the Guarda's hands and pouring himself another glass. 

"But here's what you don't know. And I'm gonna tell you, because I'm just a good person," Dean said, stoppering the decanter and passing it back to Crowli, who listened with an intrigued expression. "There's nothing for you here. All you’re gonna find in this dumb game of shoot and shoot-back, is blood. We've been fighting for years, and we'll be fighting for years. Nothing is going to change that, especially not a policeman. You don't want in, buddy. You want out. Whatever we're fighting for, it's not worth it." 

"And what exactly are you fighting for, then?" Crowli asked, curiosity written in every line of the man's mouth.

Dean flashed him a salty grin. "Family, friends, and freedom. Far as I can tell, that's all I ever fought for. Ever hear anything different, Sammy?" 

Sam shook his head, still not daring to take a drink from his glass. 

"Oh come on, man. If we were gonna die, we'd be dead." Dean said, flicking a finger at Sam's glass as he moved to sit back in his chair. "Live a little."

Sam shook his head, setting the untouched glass to the side. "That's shit logic. And one of us should be sober, at least."

Crowli narrowed his eyes. "You're telling me all this First Civilization crap I hear about is a lie? None of it’s true, stories of a godly precursor race who could see the future, beings that practically made us from dust?"

Sam sighed. "We just don't know. All we have are myths to go on, with very little factual evidence."

"Pieces of Eden. And Sages, right?" Crowli murmured.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Maybe. Even what we know to be true is fuzzy. The point is, you don't want to get involved."

"Well, while I appreciate the concern, fellows, what wars I get into are thoroughly my decisions. Not yours." Crowli said, his eyes flicking from Sam to Dean.

Sam dipped his head in understanding; Dean narrowed his eyes. Crowli continued, folding his arms across his chest "But I like you two. You're certainly interesting. So I'm gonna help you out a bit. Tell you what. I did hear a bit of information yesterday, something about a trio of horses getting left in Forli a couple of days ago. They had the Templar insignia burnt into their arses. That's all I've got"

Sam frowned. "Forli?"

Dean nodded, standing up. "That's actually quite helpful."

He moved towards the door, and Sam followed him after a moment's pause. 

Crowli moved to open the door for the Assassins. "Leaving so quickly? Well, don't say I never said anything for you boys."

"There's that time you tortured me and nearly killed me." Dean said with a grin.

Crowli sighed. "I suppose things like that are a bit hard to get over."

Sam saw Dean's eyes flash with hatred as his brother clenched his fists, his smile icing over. "Just a bit."

"Fuck if I care, then. Hope you find your damn Templar, whatever you want to do with him. Godspeed, Moose." Crowli cocked his head at Dean, a smile breaking out at Dean. "And I think I'll call you…Squirrel. Might be your teeth. They're a bit big." 

Dean frowned, and Sam could tell from the way his mouth moved that his brother was running his tongue over his teeth. "Dean and Sam, please. Or we can just call you asshole." 

Crowli smiled, closing the door in their face as he said, "Fuck off, Squirrel."

Dean turned to his brother, concern in his eyes. "I look like a tree rat?" he asked. 

Sam sighed.  "We just had drinks with the Captain of the Guard, and that's what you're most concerned about?" He pushed past his brother, out into the lobby, waving at the jumpy Guarda at the desk. 

"Wait, but do I?" Dean called, following his brother into the fresh air, just barely avoiding a donkey-led cart as it careened down the road.

"No, Dean. You don't look like a squirrel any more than I do a moose. He was just being a tool," Sam said, trying to figure out the best way to the Riverboat from the guardhouse. "What we should be worrying about is what this means. If Cas made it to Forli, then…"

Dean shook his head. "He could have gone anywhere, anywhere via boat. All kinds of traffic goes in and out of there."

Sam took a deep breath. "Yeah. But it's something. If we don't get anything else out of Garth or Charlie, at least we know they went through Forli."

Dean nodded, his eyes brightening. "Which is where we're going anyway--Jo wants us to go to Venice to find this stage, we have to stop in Forli to take the ferry. Maybe this won't be that hard after all."

Sam grinned, looping an arm around his brother's neck and pulling him towards the Riverboat, and Charlie's newly founded Court of Thieves. "That's the spirit, Squirrel."

___________

 

 Charlie buried her head in her hands. This Court of Thieves was shaping up to be a disaster.

"No, we don't need thirty barrels of mead on top of the ale and wine we're ordering. We don't have the gold for it, that's why! We can only pay for fifteen barrels at the most, Shepherd," Charlie told the barkeep patiently, trying not to dig her fingernails too deeply into the counter. She was one of the few people sitting at the bar, her newly-minted advisor/bodyguard Flint leaned against the counter to her right lazily, a mug full of frothy ale resting next to his elbow.

Shepherd wrung his hands; the balding barkeep was concerned about keeping a crowd of raucous thieves happy and inebriated, and Charlie was concerned about that as well. But with the Leviathans (and their deep pockets) in the wind (if not dead), the Guild simply couldn't afford to spend money like they used to. 

"Okay, Charlie. I can stretch it, maybe even water it down. Hopefully this week's crowd'll be too excited about all this revolutionary stuff to notice the change." 

Charlie nodded, signaling to Flint. The older thief pulled a bag of Florins from his sleeve, passing it to the barkeep with a charming smile. Shepherd slipped the coin into a pocket in his breeches, dipping his head to Charlie and Flint before disappearing into the back room of the bar, supposedly to count the coin.

"We really need an accountant," Charlie said, rubbing her temples. _Just add that to the list of growing positions this Court is needs to run properly,_ she thought. _If only the Leviathans hadn’t taken all their documents with them when they got the boot, maybe we could have gotten this Guild back together more easily._

Flint scratched his jaw, then took a sip of the frothy ale Shepard had poured for him. Charlie fought back a giggle as the foam caught in his silvery moustache. "We can add that to the list of cabinet positions you need filled. We already have that meeting on Friday with the senior Thieves; why not have elections for the cabinet as well? All applicants can make a pitch for why they should have what position, and how they're qualified. I'll spread the word around, see if I can't get a good thief or two to show up."

Charlie ran a hand through her hair. "Okay. But I want the thieves with seniority to vote on this, not just me. I'll throw in my voice, but it shouldn't be any louder than the others."

Flint shook his head. "Your voice has meaning here, Charlie. You killed Roman, that means you get his position. That's how it works. You're in charge." 

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Yeah. I'm in charge, and my first orders of duty are to get the democracy thing up and running. I don't want a Court. I want a Guild. We need to get an operation going here, Flint, thieves bringing revenue in and out, in and out, taking jobs and getting them done. Because we're running out of income, and when that happens, we go dark. All the money going into keeping the Guarda off our ass evaporates, and there goes that deal."

Flint nodded. "You don't have to tell me, Volpe." Charlie glared at him; she felt weird bearing the name of a long-dead thief. Even if the spirit of said dead thief may have blessed her, or whatever. It felt weird.

"Fine. You don't have to tell me, Charlie. But they're still gonna call you that."

Charlie punched him in the arm. "Only because you told them about that…thing."

"What, you expect an old man to keep his mouth shut? Come on, that one was too amazing not to talk about," Flint said, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Volpe Rossa. That's what they're calling you now, you know."

Charlie crossed her arms on the counter, burying her face in the crook of her elbow. _Just kill me. I can't lead these people. I can barely handle myself._

The bar door opened behind her, interrupting her train of self-loathing thought. She didn't look up. 

Flint put a hand on her shoulder. "Uh, lass…you might want to sit up for this one." 

Charlie mumbled something unintelligible, keeping her face buried in her arms.

"Well, if it isn't the Queen of Thieves herself." A familiar voice called through the empty bar.

Charlie looked up, her eyes hopeful. "Sam?"

The tall Assassin beelined for the bar, enveloping Charlie in a massive hug. Charlie hugged him back, squeezing him tight before hopping off her barstool, reaching around Sam to embrace his brother. "Dean! It's so good to see you both," Charlie said, stepping back to look at the brothers.

Dean nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled at her. "We missed you too, kiddo."

Flint cleared his throat, the foam from his ale still caught in his moustache. Charlie fought not to giggle, again, this time failing. "Sorry. You two remember Flint. Flint, Sam and Dean Vincense."

The brothers dipped their heads, shaking Flint's hand in turn. "Thanks for keeping an eye on Charlie. Not that she needs it," Dean said with a grin. Something was wrong, though, in the smile. Something in it was false.

 _They haven't found Cas yet,_ Charlie realized with a start. _They haven't found Cas yet, and it is ripping Dean apart not knowing what happened to him._

Flint chuckled. "No, she doesn't. She'll whip us all into shape, that I believe. I'm just here to be a little extra muscle for the time being."

Charlie grinned, noting a similarly uncomfortable smile on Sam's face. "Damn, you boys need to get better poker faces. Flint, would you give us a minute? Sam and Dean want to discuss some things privately, I assume."

Flint dipped his head in acknowledgement, following Shepherd into the back rooms of the bar. Sam and Dean's shoulders drooped in relief, almost at the same time, as their fake smiles fell.

"No word on Cas then?" Charlie asked, her brows pulling together with tension. Sam shook his head, and Charlie saw Dean's fists clench.

"We've been doing some digging, and we have reason to think he, Balthazar, and one other Templar made it to Forli, where they ditched their horses."

Charlie nodded. "Which implies that they got on a boat."

Dean shook his head. "Yeah, boats that could go anywhere. Cas could literally be halfway around the world"

Sam looked at his brother with stupefied surprise. "Dean, it’s been two days. He couldn't possibly be halfway around the world. Do you know how big the world is?"

Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother. "No, I don't. Do you?"

"Well, we actually--" Sam started, before Dean put a finger to his lips, interrupting him with a whispered "Shut up, Sammy. It's not important."

"Wow. You guys do know that boats leaving from Forli on certain days go certain places, right?" Charlie asked, her eyes flicking from Dean's bloodshot eyes to Sam's tense ones. They both focused on Charlie immediately after she spoke.

"Come again?" Dean said, blinking as he leaned towards the leader of the Thieves Guild.

"Well, yeah. Tuesday the barges come in from Greece, on Friday they send off passenger vessels to Ancona and San Benedetto, all those ports up and down the coast."

Sam blinked. "And how do you know this?"

"I lived in Forli for a while. Dated a really pretty girl there. Her eyes were so green…kind of like yours, Dean, but like, way greener."

Dean cleared his throat. "Okay, well, I'm glad you had a nice time. Back on topic: Do you know what kind of boat Cas would have been on if he had left…two days ago, so Thursday? Or maybe Wednesday?"

Charlie shook her head. "Sorry, brother. That's all I remember about the scheduling of other people's boats. But you could ask someone in Forli maybe, anyone who works at the docks would know."

Sam nodded. "Thanks, Charlie. That was really helpful, actually. Now we’re one step closer to finding the poor guy."

Charlie nodded, focusing her gaze on Dean. She put a hand on his fist, still clenched on the countertop. "I'm sure he's gonna be okay, Dean. He's a resourceful thing, and a Knight at that, right? Templars are knights, isn't that a thing?" 

Sam snorted. "Only as much as we're dragons."

Dean nodded, swallowing.  "Thanks, Charlie. It's just…I owe the guy my life."

Charlie smiled. "Sure you do. I think he probably feels the same way about you, like he owes you his life or some similar shit. But the reality is that that's what family does. You watch out for each other. Self-sacrificing only makes martyrs of us all. And martyrs only ever become saints after they end up bloody." 

"Woah. Deep." Sam said, taking a gulp from Flint's ale.

"Whatever happened to staying sober?" Dean asked his brother.

Sam sighed. "Fuck off. I thought Crowli might have poisoned your damn drinks."

Charlie snapped her fingers in front of Dean's face, bringing his attention back to her. "Oh, sorry. What else about ending up bloody?"

Charlie sighed, rubbing her temples. "Promise me one thing, when you find Castiel."

Dean nodded, his jaw set but his eyes red. "Sure."

"Tell him how you feel about him."

Dean shook his head, blinking. "O…kay. Tell him that I….?"

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Dean, he told me that he kissed you."

Sam's jaw dropped. "Uh, what."

Dean pursed his lips, closing his eyes and sighing deeply. "It wasn't him, it was that thing that possesses him. The Voice thing. We were drunk, and it possessed him and it kissed me, using his body. I thought the prick was trying to kill me, so I twisted out my hidden blade. But…"

Charlie nodded, speaking softly. "You were going to kill him, but you didn't. Instead, you kissed him back." 

Sam's jaw dropped even lower than Charlie thought possible, and Dean flopped his head forward onto the counter. Charlie grinned, rubbing his back gently.

"I don't know what it is." Dean mumbled. "I've always just assumed, you know. I just assumed that I was only into chicks. The way you do. It's just…what's normal. What’s expected. Be a man, take care of business, marry a nice girl, have a family. In my case, business is killing people, but the rest of it, I thought that was all going to be normal."

Dean lifted his head, rubbing his eyes with one hand. 

"But a few years ago, I started to kinda notice that I wasn't just…attracted… to chicks. First it was just the guy at the coffee bar, then it was the stuffed shirt behind the counter at the bank. I didn't really know  what was going on with me. Part of me thought it was sick, and I would try to think about only girls for a while, to combat it. Which would help, because I like girls too. But it still feels like a lie, you know? I'm either lying to myself, or I'm a sick fuck." 

Sam shook his head. "Dean, why didn't you tell me about all this?" 

"I've…I guess I've thought about it, but I could never really…bring myself to. I don't know. Why does it all have to be so weird? Maybe I just like Cas, and maybe I don't. But if I did, what's so wrong with that? Huh? What's so wrong with that?" Dean said, his chest heaving and his eyes flicking from his brother to Charlie frantically.

Charlie gave Dean a sad smile. "There's nothing wrong with that, Dean. There's nothing wrong with you. Sam and I support you, and I can guarantee I have experienced every feeling you're going through right now.”

Sam cleared his throat, his eyes creasing with concern. "I'm with you, brother. No matter what. We've been through so much shit together…man, this isn't something you should have to go through alone. We're with you. I'm with you." Sam patted his brother on the shoulder, and Dean straightened up a bit, giving his brother a sheepish look.

"I know you're not much of a feelings guy, Dean. But if you need somebody to talk to, or ask questions about…anything, I'm your girl, okay?"

Dean blushed, nodding. Flint poked his head out from the back room, mouthing the name Crowli. Charlie froze. She had forgotten. She had a meeting with the Captain of the Guarda, to renegotiate the terms of the alliance between the Guild and the Guard. If a thief gets caught, they can pay off the right guard to get out of jail early, that kind of thing. This alliance was one of the most crucial the Guild had. 

If Charlie blew this meeting, there wouldn't be a guild left to lead.

She got to her feet, putting a hand on each of the boy's shoulders and leading them towards the door. "Okay. Good. I love you both, get out of my bar. I have real work to get to, not that I don't want to be a part of this coming-out thing you may or may not be doing, which is entirely your decision, by the way. You do not have to do anything you don't feel comfortable doing. But that's beside the point. I love you, I support you, I have a business to run." Charlie said, ushering the confused looking Assassins towards the door they came in. "I have a meeting with Crowli and the Guarda in an hour to renegotiate, and I want to make a good impression. So fuck off. Have a nice trip to wherever it is you're going." 

She pushed them out the door, reaching up on her toes to kiss the Assassins on the cheek, their faces identical masks of surprise and confusion. 

Charlie sighed at how lost they both looked, standing there on her doorstep. "Tell him how you feel when you find him, Dean. You might be pleasantly surprised at how he responds." 

Then she shut the door in their faces.

__________

 

Cas heard a knock at the door, just as he and Balthazar fed the final document of Gabriel's into the woodstove.  His eyes flicked to Balthazar, and he swallowed back his panic. 

"Is that…"

Cas nodded. "It's gotta be Gabriel's contact, the Templar we'll be working with in the city. What's your fake name again?" 

"Um..Niccolo. You're Emmanuel? You and biblical names," Balthazar said, shaking his head.

Cas pushed himself to his feet from his position on his knees in front of the stove, stumbling down the stairs and towards the door. He combed his fingers through his hair, realizing only now that he probably smelled of smoke and the boat he had been on for two days. Balthazar followed him down the stairs.

Cas picked his way through the mess of fishing equipment that occupied the first floor of their safehouse, careful not to step on anything that looked too sharp. He had taken his boots off an hour ago, and he didn't like the idea of getting a hook caught in his foot.

"Hello?" A voice called from beyond the door, followed by another round of knocking.

Cas frowned, calling out gruffly. "Just one second! Almost there."

He fell against the door, tripping on a tangled bundle of what had once been netting. The rotting wooden door flew open as Cas' body weight was pitched against the cheap bolt-lock, and he and the door fell to the ground outside with a crash.

"…Ouch." Cas said, rolling over onto his back. His ribs ached, and he had scraped his forearms. _Why does this shit always happen to me?_

Cas heard a soft gasp from above him, and he opened his eyes.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" A woman with loosely curled red hair stood over him with her hand on her mouth, blocking out the sun with her shoulder. She wore a finely stitched green dress, with tiny white and yellow flowers arcing along the bodice and hemline. Her brown eyes were warm and concerned.

Cas let his eyes drift closed again. He knew her. The woman's name fell from his lips the way names only do after near-constant use. The kind of name that is so important that it stays at the forefront of the mind; even if you're not thinking about it, their name is always there, ready to roll off your tongue at just the slightest nudge.

"Anna?"


	45. Little Hits!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby stories! Stories about the assassins growing up a lil bit :) Featuring illustrations by yours truly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I blatantly stole the title from the hawkeye fraction comics (lol sorry and those are really good everyone should read them) These stories are about the assassins growing up a little bit! Hope you enjoy! First one is Sam's, second one is Jo's. Next little hits (which shouldnt be for a bit--ill be getting back to normal plot after this) will feature cas and charlie!
> 
> I GOT IT TO WORK HALELUJAH THE PICTURES ARE THERE MOTHAFUCKAS

 

**Cold Enough for Snow**

________________________

“Ouch, Sammy that’s my neck!”

“Sorry, Dean.”

Sam adjusted his position on his brother’s back, pressing his ear against the vent leading to his Uncle Robi’s office.

Dean groaned beneath him. “Can you hear anything?”

“Maybe if you stopped whining, I could” Sam hissed. Both boys were still pretty short, unable to reach the vent that led to the office alone, but stacked one on top of the other, Sam could just barely hear his uncle’s voice on the other side.  

“Jon, this is insane. Let the boys stay with us for a while, please. It’s Christmas Eve, for fuck’s sake.” Robi said.

Sam heard his father’s voice, gruff and exhausted from the night of riding he and his sons had been through. “I can’t do that, I gotta keep training them up. And we’re so close to getting Azazel, I can feel it.”

“That Templar’s been giving you the slip for the last couple of years you been hunting him, you idjit.” Robi said. “And we have facilities to train the boys here. Can teach ‘em up proper, along with the other apprentices.”

“What’s he saying?” Dean whispered beneath Sam.  

Sam shook his head. His father was talking again.

“I’ve got him tracked down to a real junk farming village west of Forli. One of his go-betweens in Firenze washed up in a bar down by the river. I was able to get some good information out of him. Well, Dean was.”

Robi groaned. “Don’t tell me you had the kid torture him, Jon. He’s barely even twelve now, right? And Sammy’s even younger! Do you remember what you were doing when you were their age? I do, and it wasn’t killing people, and it certainly wasn’t torturing them.”

Sam heard the sound of a chair pushing back, and the thump of footsteps on plush carpet. He pictured his father, covered in his long traveling cloak, dark stubble coating his sticking his finger in his uncle’s face. “He didn’t draw any blood, just broke a few bones on the guy. And you don’t get to tell me about what is best for my boys. You don’t. You got the high life here, Robi. You and Ellen and her little girl. You can pretend you’re a happy family. Pretend you’re any better than I am, for going after the son of a bitch that killed my wife and pulled the little bit of ‘happily-ever-the-fuck-after’ I was gonna get away from me. But don’t tell me you know what to do with Sam and Dean. They are my sons.”

“Dad’s mad. Uncle Robi wants us to stay with him, instead of hunting Templars with Dad.” Sam whispered to his brother. Dean grunted, shifting uncomfortably.

Robi took a deep breath. “I understand that, Jon. But you can’t honestly believe Mary would have wanted this for you? For them?”

Jon was silent for a moment, then Sam heard the sound of a tiny object clatter against a surface.

“Where did you find this?” Robi said, a hint of awe in his voice. “Is this a piece of Eden?”

“I have no fucking idea, Robi. I found it on Azazel’s go-between. Dean had nicked it from his pockets after he was...done with him. I never believed in all that First Civilization crap. Thought you might know what to do with it.”

Sam sucked in a breath. “The necklace, Dean. Dad gave him the necklace you grabbed off that guy you beat up.”

After a moment of near-silence, Robi sighed. “Well, it looks like it could be First Civilization-made. But it’s not activated by touch...seems pretty dormant. Safe enough. Probably best if we keep it here, though, don’t you think?”

Jon huffed a laugh. “You can wear it for all I care, Robi.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea, Jon,” Robi mused. “Anyway, will you at least stay the night? Ellen’s got a big Christmas dinner planned for tomorrow night. Could be good for you and the boys to slow down, just for a night.”

Silence again, and Sam imagined his father and Robi staring each other down. The tension was broken by a defeated growl from their father. “Alright, you sap. We’ll stay the night, maybe even two.”

“Hey, dreamgirl, you want to fill me in on what’s going on in there?” Dean whispered hoarsely.

“We can stay the night, jerk. And Uncle Robi says it’s Christmas eve!” Sam said, fighting to keep his voice down.

“Really?” Dean asked, his voice filled with wonder. “Son of a bitch.”

“Shh. They’re talking again.”

The door to the office opened, and their father stepped out. Dean and Sam swayed, Sam leaping down from Dean’s shoulders immediately. “...You three can stay up in one of the guest rooms on the third floor.” Robi said, following their father out of the office.

Jon looked around the massive marble foyer, undoubtedly searching for his sons. Dean cleared his throat and his father turned, nodding at the boys. Sam clasped his hands behind his back, noting that Dean had done the same. “Good. There you are. Say hello to your uncle while I go put the horses in the stable, right boys?”

“Yes, sir.” They answered. Jon gathered his cape, heading out into the chilly night air with a long look at his brother.

“Ugh. Your daddy sure is a piece of work, isn’t he?” Uncle Robi said, giving the boys a little smile. Sam grinned, but his brother stiffened.

Robi saw this, and waved his hand as if trying to push the comment away. “I didn’t mean it like that, Dean. Come on. I’ll show you boys where you’re gonna crash. And are you ever gonna give me a damn hug, god’s sake?”

Dean released the tension from his shoulders, starting forward and wrapping his arms around his Uncle’s waist. Sam ran up behind him, trying to wrap his short arms around his uncle and brother.

“Maybe when you’re a little bigger we can pull off a proper group hug, boys. Don’t you think?”

“S’nothing wrong with our hugs now,” Dean mumbled, pulling away from his uncle’s embrace. Robi grinned and ruffled Dean’s hair, scooping Sam up in his arms. Sam yawned, his eyes fluttering closed, then open, then closed again.

Robi chuckled. “Dean, why don’t you go say hello to your aunt. I’ll bring your brother upstairs to bed.”

“Uh...okay,” Dean said, casting a cautious glance at his brother before heading off down a hallway in the villa.

Robi patted Sam on the back, his uncle’s hand big and warm on his back. Sam didn’t realize just how tired he was until his father had stepped out of sight.

His uncle seemed to read his mind, saying “Looks like you’ve been rode real hard and put up wet, Sammy. When was the last time you slept for a few hours, boy?”

“Um, maybe a couple of days ago,” Sam mumbled. “But I’m okay. I promise,” he said, his protest cut off by yet another yawn.

Robi grinned, kicking open the door to one of the guest rooms. Rich red comforters and curtains covered two beds and each window in the spacious room, and Sam shivered. The cold ride from Fireze had chilled him to his bones, and he wanted nothing more than to burrow down beneath the downy scarlet coverlets.

“Well, you should be getting more sleep but you knew that,” Robi said, setting Sam down on the side of the bed. Robi gestured for Sam to stick his leg out. “Here, boot.”

Robi pulled Sam’s mud-caked boots off his legs, a mischievous look in his eyes. “You think it’s gonna snow?”

“It doesn’t snow in Italia, Uncle.” Sam muttered. Dean had told him so last week, when Sam had asked him about the fluffy white stuff he heard about in books.

Robi grinned. “I’ve seen it happen. It doesn’t stick around for very long, but we’ve been known to get a little bit of the white stuff from time to time.”

“You think it’ll happen this year?”

“Well, it’s cold enough to,” Robi said, clasping one of his gloved hands over Sam’s folded ones. “Maybe we’ll get lucky. Lord knows we’re due for some luck, right?”

Sam nodded, feeling something small and cold touch his hands. Robi stood up, and Sam looked between his fingers to see a small bronze charm, carved to look like some kind of horned face. It was suspended from a thin leather strand. Sam looked up at his uncle with confusion.

“I thought Dad wanted you…”

Robi raised an eyebrow at him. “If I catch you listening to private conversations again, Sam, I might just have to give you a damn medal. Stealth skills are important to any good Assassin. You and your brother’ve got good instincts, and I know you’ll make great members of the Brotherhood one day. I’m trusting you both with it.”

“Th..thanks, Uncle Robi.” Sam said, running his skinny fingers over the face of the amulet.

Robi nodded, walking towards the door, obviously uncomfortable at the level of sentiment he had just submerged himself in. “Yeah, don’t mention it, Sammy. But that Amulet’s real special, alright? Take good care of it for me, boy. It’s real special.”

Sam nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yes, sir.”

Robi closed the door behind him, calling back to Sam, “Don’t call me sir.”

_____________________

“Merry Christmas, Dean.” Sam murmured, when his brother finally came back into the room.

Dean sighed. “You’re supposed to be asleep, dork.”

Sam rolled over in his bed, eventually sitting up. “You are too. How was Aunt Karen?”

Dean shrugged, plopping down onto the floor and tugging off his boots. “She kissed me, a lot.”

Sam nodded, twirling the amulet between his fingers. “Her kisses are always a little overkill. But I got you something, you know...for Christmas.”

Dean looked up from unlacing his boots, his eyes wide with surprise. “What...Sammy, I didn’t know…”

“It’s okay, man. It was last minute.” Sam says, twisting the amulet up into his fist, so it was hidden beneath his fingers. “Here, hold out your hand.”    

“Woah,” Dean said as Sam dropped the amulet into his brother’s outstretched hand. “Sam, how’d you even get this?”

Sam shrugged. “Uncle Robi gave it to me. He and Dad think it might be some kind of...he said something about a civilization I think.”

“It’s First Civilization tech?” Dean asked, his eyes widening. “And Robi’s...trusting us with it?”

“They think it’s kinda dead, If I heard right. Robi wants us to watch over it, and what better way for one of us to watch it than to wear it?” Sam said, picking the amulet out of his brother’s hand and looping it over Dean’s head.

Dean watched the amulet settle on his chest with awe. “Are you sure about this, Sammy? I mean, he gave it to you.”

Sam shrugged again. “He said it was for us. And it’s Christmas. Just take it, jerk.”

Dean grinned, turning the amulet over in his hands. “Fine, bitch.” His eyes were soft, and despite the banter, Sam knew his brother was touched.

“So sentimental,” Sam murmured, rolling back into bed.

“Shut up!” His brother called, and Sam smiled, peeking out the window. A few soft, white flakes fluttered through the air.

__________________

**Hunters**

Jo breathed in the scent of new leaves, repositioning her bare feet on the branch of the pine tree. Dead needles and spines dug into her heels, but she didn't pay it any attention. Pain is just a message, she told herself. A message I need to block.

Twenty feet below her perch, a young doe was  nibbling at a patch of green amidst the dead branches and leaves that still covered the forest floor. Her target. She had been tracking it for the last hour and a half, through the woods two miles south of the villa. 

She took another deep breath to steady herself, before flicking her wrists and sliding out her hidden blades. You're mine, she thought intently. She leapt from the branch, falling towards the deer with both blades aimed for it's neck. The deer's ears pricked up at the sound of the shifting branch, and it bolted away.

Jo's wristblades dug into the ground where the deer had been moments ago, groaning in frustration.

"You kiss your mama with that mouth?"  A cocky voice called from the tree she had just fallen out of.

Jo tipped her head back, just in time to see a tall form fall past her, landing in a pile of dead leaves and pine needles with a whump. Her oldest cousin popped his head out of the leaf pile, grinning stupidly.

"Fancy seeing you here," Jo said, biting back her frustration at her older counterpart having witnessed her failure.

Dean rolled out of the leaves, shaking needles and twigs from the many folds of his assassin robes as he did. "Yeah, well I saw you sneaking out of the villa, thought you had to be up to something interesting."

 "You can't make me go back. Not until I catch something." Jo blurted. She had been careful to make sure she hadn't been followed. Then again, Dean was almost a fully-realized assassin. Jo was still an apprentice.

 Dean sighed.  "I know I can't make you do anything, Jo. And I know we haven't been family for very long, but I'd like to think we're close enough that you can tell me what's bugging you."   
  
---  
  
"Robi says I'm not ready to…to kill anything yet." Jo said after a moment of silence.

Dean nodded, understanding. "And you're gonna prove him wrong, right? Bring home a big old buck slung over your shoulders, make papa proud?

"He's not my father," Jo said angrily. "You know that. Just because he married my mom a few years back doesn't mean he owns me, you know."

Dean closed his eyes, rubbing his neck with one hand. "Robi isn't trying to own you, Jo. He's trying to do what's best for you. We're all just trying to get along. That's what family's all about, right? Putting up with each other."

Jo pulled her boots from the pack over her shoulder, tugging the brown leather knee-highs on awkwardly. "I don't really know, Dean. You tell me."

Dean looked over her shoulder, seeing something in the distance. "If we move now, we can still catch up with that deer."

"We?" Jo asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, why not?" Dean said, clapping her on the back. "It's not every day an Assassin makes her first kill. And I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Jo nodded, gesturing for her cousin to lead the way. They walked in silence for a few minutes, tracking the deer by hoofprints in the mud, a snapped twig here or there. Sometimes it was Dean who picked up the trail, other times it was Jo.

They caught sight of the doe in a clearing ringed on one side by the base of a cliff. Dean smiled, signaling that he would flank the deer, and that jo should circle around towards the front of the animal. Jo nodded, understanding his plan.

They moved into position,  Dean moving silently behind the doe and Jo directly in front of it, crouched down beneath the trunk of a fallen tree. The deer nibbled at another patch of new leaves, oblivious to the trap slowly forming around it.  Jo didn't blame it: Dean crept through the underbrush silently, barely disturbing  the environment around him as he settled into position. It was hard not to admire him.

Jo whistled, letting Dean know she was in position. With a shout, Dean crashed through the bushes and twigs ringing the clearing making a beeline for the deer. It darted forward, moving at a speed Jo could barely track with her eyes…right towards where she sat in wait. She fought to quiet her racing heart.

_Don't panic. Don't panic. You can do this._

The doe thundered towards the fallen tree, leaping over the rotting wood. Jo stood as the deer sailed towards her, it's eyes rolling back into it's head as she braced herself, twisting out one blade and grabbing the animal's neck with her other hand. Jo pulled her blade back, stabbing it deep into the doe's neck as it let out a high wail. 

The deer and girl tumbled to the ground,  blood spluttering from it's neck as she pulled the glinting knife across its neck, cutting off its scream. The deer shuddered as the life left it's eyes, and Jo shuddered with it.

"Now that," Her cousin called, jogging across the clearing towards her, "was amazing. You've got the instincts of a hunter, Jo. Clean and simple. That was some of the best killing I've ever seen a teenager do."

Jo nodded, wiping the blood from her blade in the grass beside her. "You're still a teenager, doofus."

Dean shrugged. "Maybe for another few months. You know what I mean. Sam'd be jealous."

Jo blushed, a bit of pride beginning to bloom in her chest. "Don't boost my ego too much, doofus. If it weren't for you I wouldn't have caught it. I don't need any more hubris." 

Dean grabbed the deer by it's hooves, swinging it over his shoulder with ease. "Ain't hubris if it's deserved, kiddo. And a good Assassin knows when they need to call for backup. That's why we're a brotherhood."

"Aww, don't go getting all emotional on me." Jo said, punching her cousin in the arm.

"Shut up. Let's get this girl home, yeah?" Dean said, leading the way out of the clearing.

The two walked in comfortablesilence for the next ten minutes, the sound of the dead leaves of last autumn crunching beneath their boots.

A rabbit darted out of their path, and Jo squeaked in surprise.

Dean chuckled. "Deadly predators."

"What, me or the fluffball?" Jo asked with a grin

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you the fluffball?"

"Thought that was you." Jo said with a laugh.

Dean shifted their catch on his back, swiping a finger across the deer's wet neck and flicking the blood onto Jo's face with a snicker.

"Mercy, mercy!" Jo yelped, and she punched him in the arm again. "Asshole."

Dean nodded. "Yep."

"Dean, can I… can I ask you something?"

"Depends. You can ask, and I might answer." 

"Okay," Jo said, after a deep breath. "How old were you the first time you killed something?"

Dean tensed, and Jo had the sudden feeling that she had crossed into territory that she shouldn't have here. "You want to know about the first time I took a life." 

Jo nodded, and he sighed. After a moment of deliberation, he nodded, and the tow kept walking back towards the village as they talked.

"It wasn't  an animal, you know. I didn't learn to hunt wildlife until I was aroud your age."

"But I'd hunted people before.  You know how my father is, hell bent on catching the bastards who killed my mother for years. Even now, he just can't accept a loss. I want to see them dead just as much as he does, but god knows I'm tired of it by now. It's been my life for…over ten years, now, and it's all poor  Sam's ever known. The hunt. " 

Jo looked at her cousin thoughtfully. Dean had never been one for "feelings talks", and she thought this might have been the longest she had ever heard him talk about himself.

"Well, back to the point. I was thirteen when I made my first kill." 

Jo shook her head. "Only thirteen?"  
  
"I didn't have much of a childhood, Jo. Tradgedy runs through the Brotherhood, thicker than blood. It's one of the few constants in this life." He said, leading Jo around a rabbit trap one of the local farmers had set up near the edge of the wood. 

"Not sure if that's cynicism or wisdom," Jo said.

Dean shrugged. "It just is."

"Who was he?" Jo asked.

"She," Dean said softly, "was creeping around the safe-house Dad had left Sam and I in, on the south side of Firenze. He said he wouldn't be gone more than a week, but we went about ten days without hearing a word from him. I was on edge, and I cought a woman trying to pick the lock on the back door of the house."

"You didn't hesitate." Jo said. It wasn't a question.

Dean shook his head. "I didn't have the training to take her out nonlethally. If I knew then what I knew now, I would have just been able to knock her out. But I was a kid, and Sammy was sleeping just behind that door. That's all I understood. And then her blood was on my hands."

"Did you ever find out who she was working for? Was it the Templars, or maybe the man your father was hunting?"

Dean shook his head. "I panicked, dragged her body inside and just left it by the inside of the door.  Dad came back the next day, saw the body, saw me kneeling down next to it, eyes wide, hands still bloody. I was a little fucked up. He told me he was proud of me. Said I was…I was a real man now." He shook his head. "There was nothing strong, or 'manly' about how I felt."

Dean turned to give Jo a hard look. "How did you feel when you ripped open this deer's throat?"

Jo thought about it for a moment, about the doe hurtling towards her, the feel of her blade cutting into it's neck. "Kind of powerful, but I was mostly just…afraid ."

"I only felt the fear." Dean swallowed at the memory. "But Assassin's aren't meant to be scared. Next time we came back to the villa, I spilled my guts to Robi. Told him about how I killed that lady, saw her huge eyes every time I closed my own. How every time I strapped my wristblades on, I could feel them digging into her heart. I felt her heart stop beating, Jo." 

"You told Robi that?" Jo said, unable to hide her surprise.

Dean shrugged, the deer shifting on his back. "Sure as hell couldn't tell my dad, could I? He always needed me to be strong, be the man when he couldn't. Still does. But Robi seemed like he might understand, and I had to tell somebody."

"What'd he say?"

Dean looked ahead, a corner of his mouth pulling up in a smile at the memory. "Well, first thing he did was call me an idiot. Then he told me that killing wasn't something we were supposed to enjoy. An Assassin's worth isn't meant to be measured by how heartless he is, or how much he enjoys taking a life. He told me that fear was healthy. It meant I was alive, that my body was trying to help me accomplish what I needed to do. Fear is a message, and we need to always pay attention to what it tells us. But he said that that was very different than being ruled by fear."

Jo nodded. "That sounds like him." 

"He's trying to do his best by us, Jo. You, me, Sam, Ellen, the brotherhood.  And he's been training Assassins for a long time. I helped you catch this deer because I believed you were ready, but don't pull this shit again, okay?"

Jo raised an eyebrow. "I'll think about it, at least."

Dean grinned. "That's all I could have hoped for."

_____________________ 

"Where have you been?" Sam said, closing the book he had been reading as his brother strolled into Robi's office. His uncle sat behind the heavy wooden desk, sorting through a thick pile of messages from the messenger pigeon coop.

"Come outside, both of you. There's something you might want to see."

Sam followed his brother and uncle out of the office, Robi mumbling about the work he wasn't getting done under his breath.

In the courtyard behind the villa stood Jo, stringing up a doe from a low-hanging branch. The animal was almost as big as the fourteen year old.

"Woah," Sam breathed. "Jo, did you catch that yourself?" 

"I had a little help from Dean." Jo said, her eyes locking onto her stepfather's. "Are you mad?"

Robi grimaced, his hands on his hips. "Aw, hell. How can I be mad when you did such a good job? Just look at her!" He said, marveling at the doe. "It's a neat kill, too. You didn't cause her any more pain than was necessary. Well done."

Robi smiled at her, and Sam swore he saw Jo blush as she grinned back. "Thanks."

"Your cousins can show you how to clean it. I'll go tell your dinner's on us tonight." Robi said, patting Dean on the back. The two men shared a look, and then Robi went back inside the house.

"Why didn't you tell me you were chasing after Jo?" Sam whispered to his brother. 

"Robi told me to go after her. He saw her sneaking out of the village, said he had a hunch she was going to go try and hunt on her own. Old fart thought I might be able to get through to her." Dean murmured. 

"Ah, bummer. I want to be involved In the next learning opportunity, master." Sam said, bowing low before his brother. "Robi just had me reading history books."

"Shut up. You love reading." Dean said, ruffling his brother's hair. Sam was getting dangerously close to Dean's height, and Sam was sure he would soon have a few inches on his older sibling.

"Come on, asshole. Let's go bleed a deer." Sam said, punching his brother in the arm.

Dean rubbed the spot on his bicep, murmuring "Why does everyone do that?"

 

 


	46. A Thin Rope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while for us, but Cas has just fallen through the door, finding his lost sister Anna alive and well in Venice. Dean and Sam are hot on Cas' trail. Both Templars and Assassins are searching for the suspected Sage, Adam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it has taken so long. I don't even have an excuse. Hopefully I'll be better as the summer ends and I get more time to myself ha h a more time for myself as the school year starts thats a joke haha but maybe
> 
> I was gonna do an art for this and im in the middle of it still ill update it in a bit w the art
> 
> Also check out the dishonored au im working on now w voidalhoneybee.tumblr.com! Its on the archive just click my name :)

Anna stared down at her brother, her mouth open in surprise.d

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" she asked, offering Castiel a hand. Cas stared at it for a moment in disbelief before clasping her hand and pulling himself up. He brushed the debris from the door he had just crashed through from his pants as Balthazar stared, wide-eyed, in the doorway.

"Anna." Cas breathed again. He had long since resigned himself to the reality that his sister didn't remember him, after falling from the top of Santa Carlotta years ago. Cas had been able to heal her with his mysterious powers, but she had lost all memory of her past, and her brother. The Templar medics had decided that time spent near Castiel and everything she couldn't remember would aggravate her sensitive mental state, and as a result, Michael had sent her to another branch of the order. Out of Firenze, out of Italia.

Cas had written her letters. She had responded once, and then never again.

At the mention of her name, his sister cocked her head. "Oh, Gabriel must have told you my name. You two are his agents from Florence. Welcome to Venice."

Balthazar chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Some welcome this has been, too. Poor Emmanuel here crashed right through this bloody door, nearly killing you." 

Cas cringed at Anna's laughter. "It takes a lot more than a rotten door to kill me. I know the accommodations are probably very different from what you two would expect on a mission, but Gabriel said that he wanted you to stay underground while you were in Venice." 

Cas cleared his throat, his head still reeling. "Uh,  it's no trouble, really." 

Anna fixed her brown eyes on him cordially, as if she was looking into him, through him, and past him. There was no hint of recognition in her eyes. "I'm glad you see it that way, Emmanuel. And you would be…?" She said, turning to Balthazar.

The sandy-haired Templar bowed low, and Anna chuckled. "Niccolo, at your service."

Anna smiled. "Well, Are you two chivalrous gentlemen up for a tour of La Serenissima? I've got a gondola waiting down by the docks. If you're going to find this sage, you're going to need to know as much about this city as you can."

Ten minutes later, they were all loaded into one of the thin gondolas emblematic of the city on the water, Balthazar sitting comfortably next to Anna and Cas crowded near the rear of the boat and the gondolier. Cas had to lean out of the way to avoid being hit by the gondolier's pole every time he moved to push them further up the waterway. 

"So where we are now, near your flat, that's the harbor district. Mostly fishermen live around these parts, dockworkers, the like. You can get a few merchants living in these areas, but generally they like to live further into the city proper. Here, please turn here,"  She called to the gondolier, who whacked Castiel in the face with his rod as he turned the boat.

Cas groaned, rubbing his nose. The gondolier mumbled an apology as they proceeded down a wider waterway, passing beneath a stone bridge connecting two brightly painted red and white buildings. Anna pointed at the low bridge with a nod.

"Down there is the market closest to you two. Again, mostly fishermen. You might have to travel a bit further into the city if you want to get fresh fruits and vegetables." 

"Interesting," Balthazar interjected. "And tell me, Anna, you seem so knowledgeable about this city. Have you lived here your whole life?"

Cas shook his head slowly at his partner. _Don't push her, Balthazar_. 

Anna shook her head. "I've lived here for the last few years. Before that, I jumped around Europe a bit, going from mission to mission. I thought I'd settle down here, though." 

Balthazar nodded. "It's a gorgeous city. And how do you know Gabriel, then?"

"He came to Venice last year with Michael. The two of them met with Raphael, to talk about the direction and leadership of the Order. Gabriel took an interest in me then, said he might have special jobs for me. I've been corresponding with him ever since." 

Cas closed his eyes. _Gabriel has known where Anna was for a year. He has been working with Anna…for a year. And he didn't tell me._

"Are you okay, Emmanuel?" Anna asked, her voice concerned.

Clearing his throat, Castiel answered  "Yeah, uh, headache." 

"Here, we can stop for a bite in the San Marco district." She signaled for the gondolier to stop at the nearest dock. "I know a stand with the best kebabs. They cook the mushrooms so beautifully…"

Cas took a deep breath. Anna hated mushrooms. Or at least, she used to. Castiel had always have to pick them out of her food before she would even touch a meal.    

The three Templars stepped out of the gondola and onto the dock, transitioning from water travel to land travel smoothly. The streets were crowded as they maneuvered through a few small plazas, stalls choked with textiles, produce, and souveniers. Anna stopped them at her kebab stand, a chubby Greek woman behind the counter calling Anna by name and winking at Castiel. 

"He's a handsome one, isn't he?" The woman called, passing a few paper-wrapped skewers over the counter and pointing at Castiel. Anna smiled, and Cas nearly bolted. God in heaven, save me from this day.

"It's business, Dora. I don't mix work and play." Anna said, paying the woman for the food while Balthazar silently guffawed next to him.

Dora bounced her eyebrows. "You're crazy, girl. Make an exception for that one." 

Anna led a blushing Castiel down an alley, followed by Balthazar, who was still gasping from his laughing fit. "Sorry about Dora. She just likes gossip."

Cas just nodded as Anna handed out the skewers, digging her teeth into a fat mushroom at the end of the kebab.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Cas said, pushing his skewer into Balthazar's hand and running down the street. His stomach flipped at the thought of his sister eating the mushroom.

He slid to a halt before the waterway, emptying his near-empty stomach into the canal. Come on, get your shit together,  he thought weakly, heaving.  Think of the mission, come on.

Tears stung his eyes. _I cut myself off from the Order, from my friends back in Florence, from Dean, because I wanted to protect them. Because I'm a monster,  I don't even know what I am. What I have living inside me. And now, here is the only person I was ever responsible for, thrown right into my path…Gabriel, I will not forgive you for this. You knew this would wreck me, you joker._  

"Emmanuel, are you okay?" A warm hand touched his shoulder, and he flinched away from his sister's touch.

Balthazar's voice echoed from down the street. "I suppose he's just seasick from the gondola. And allergic to good food, apparently. "

Cas turned to glare at his partner, refusing to meet Anna's concerned gaze.

"Do you two want to go back? There's still one more place I want you two to see, It's one of the prime tourist destinations in Venezia…"  Anna said, biting her lip.

"Of course we want to! We want to learn as much about the city as we can now, don't we Emmanuel."

Cas groaned, pushing himself to his feet. "I'll manage. Lead on."

_________

 

The Assassins were currently lounging on a couple of crates on the dock at Forli, waiting for the arrival of the third member of their party. After a bit more time wasted with Garth in the city, and a carrier pigeon sent off to Monteriggioni, the boys set off for the port city of Forli, the town where Crowli reluctantly told them the three Templar horses had been discovered just a few days past.

Since Dean's speech back at the Riverboat, he had been quiet, answering questions in grunts and avoiding eye contact with Sam. 

"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam asked his brother. Dean was hunched over a piece of parchment, scrawled furiously with a piece of dark chalk he had nicked from the counter of a blacksmith.

"I'll show you when I'm done," Dean mumbled, scratching harder at the paper. Sam sighed, looking up at the sun. He hoped Kevin showed up soon. If they had to sit around for much longer, they were going to start to get antsy.

Dean sighed in satisfaction, his hands covered in dark chalk. He held the parchment up to Sam triumphantly. "Look, man. It's Cas."

Sam snorted. "Is it?" Dean's artistic skills were locked in a part of his brain he didn't use very often, the part for feelings talks and expression, Sam guessed. That part didn't get worked out very much. As a result, the sketch of "Cas" Dean had been working on for the past twenty minutes looked vaguely like a person.

Dean nodded. "Look, we can use it to help find him. We show it to everyone we see, maybe somebody recognizes him." 

Sam raised his eyebrows, fighting to contain his laughter. "Dean, maybe that's not a good idea. Its such a stunning likeness, what if he catches wind that we're looking for him?"

Dean lowered the sketch of scrawly-man-with-dark-circles-under-his-eyes. "You think he doesn't want to be found?"

"Maybe. He ran away, didn't he?" 

Dean sucked on his lower lip. "Yeah but that wasn't really him. It's whatever posesses him."

Sam blinked slowly. "The same thing that kissed you?"

"…Yeah." Dean said, after a brief pause. "I'm still gonna try and use the sketch. Maybe it'll help."

"I just hope Kevin shows up soon, with our orders from Jo."

Dean shrugged, turning to eye some of the dockworkers. "Until then, I'm going to go interrogate some witnesses."

Sam watched him trot towards the salty looking men, running a hand through his hair. _Okay, Winchester. Don't get overwhelmed. What do we know?_

_Odds are, Cas was here. According to Charlie, odds are he left this port for some other city. He and the other Templars probably wouldn't have  stuck around here for very long, meaning they would have left for another city on that morning they got in. That would have been Wednesday. All we have to do is find out what the popular destinations for Wednesday ferries are._

Sam stood, fighting back his exhaustion. He just hoped they found out where Cas had gone soon. Jo wanted them in Venice by Thursday. That was two days from then.

Sam walked past his brother, who was arguing with the dock workers about whether or not they could have seen scrawly-man, heading to the low brick building at the end of the dock. In wind-worn letters, the word FERRY was spelled out above a high counter. A nervous-looking woman sat behind the counter, counting a few coins over and over again. 

"Salute, madonna," Sam said as he approached the ticket counter. "I was wondering if you could give me a bit of help with the ferry schedules in Forli." 

The woman nodded, the pair of spectacles perched low on her thin nose almost falling off with the force of her jerk.

"My, uh, brother passed through here a few days ago, and he was a bit out of it. He might have been making a bit of a ruckus, traveling with two other men?" 

Sam heard the dock creak as his brother approached him from behind, mumbling about the manners of sea-folk.

The woman sniffed nervously. "We do see a lot of drunkards and rabble rousers, Signore. I don't pay particular attention to each of them. " 

"He'd'a looked like this." Dean said, snapping open his parchment and displaying his sketch of Castiel to lady, his jaw determined.

She pushed her spectacles up, narrowing her eyes at the image. "Well, this could be anyone! There's hardly any detail to go on."

Sam leaned towards the woman, turning on what Dean had often referred to as the "sad puppy eyes". 

"Look, we understand that it's difficult to keep track of every customer, but if you remember anything that stood out about someone traveling last Wednesday, it sure would help reunite our little family. I mean, we're all we've got left, " Sam said managing to produce a few tears. "After mother and father died in that barn fire a few years back, he's just been an absolute lush. Raving lunatic."

Her eyes softened, and she shook her head. "Alright, calm down. You said he left Wednesday? That means he could have been headed for Monfalcone, Pescara, there was even a boat that left for Sicily. And then the Venice ferry."

Dean grabbed Sam's arm at the mention of Venice. "Do you think there's a chance he's actually fucking in Venice?"

Sam flashed a grin at the woman behind the counter. "Thank you very much, you've been very helpful," He called as he steered his brother away. 

"It could be, Dean. But he could be further down the coast, it's just a chance that he's in the city." 

Dean nodded, running a thumb over his sketch of Cas. "Yeah, but it's a chance, Sam. I think we're due for a win, don't you?"

Before Sam could reply, he heard a yelp of greeting behind them. It was Kevin, a bag slung over his shoulder and a wide smile on his face.

"Kevin!" Dean said with a smile, clapping the boy on the back. Kevin pulled Dean in for a hug, taking the older Assassin by surprise.

Sam chuckled. "What, no hug for me?"

After another round of surprisingly warm hugs, Kevin handed the brothers a couple of rolls of parchment from the pocket of his robe, tied with thin red ribbons. "Your orders, gentlemen."

"How was the ride?" Dean asked, opening Jo's message. Sam had already torn through his, and was skimming Jo's handwriting quickly.

"It was uneventful. What the hell is that you're holding?" Kevin asked, jerking his chin at Dean's sketch. 

Dean shrugged, handing it over. "It's supposed to be Cas."

Kevin shook his head, biting his lip. "Got something I can draw with?"

After a few minutes with Dean's chalk and the other side of Dean's attempt, Kevin returned from the crate he had leaned against with a near-perfectly drawn likeness of Castiel , from the curve of his jaw to the look of concern in his eyes.

"Woah, Kevin. I didn't know you could draw like this." Sam mused, impressed.

Kevin shrugged. "Had to do a lot of anatomy drawings. Trying to be a doctor and all. If you practice anything, you get good. That's just how it works." 

Dean stared at the sketch, blinking. "Wow. Uh, thanks Kevin." 

Kevin grinned. "The man did save my life, way back when in the Villa, Templar or not. God, that seems like so long ago. I just hope we find him okay."

"Me too," Dean said. "I really, really do."

Sam cleared his throat. "Anyway, Jo says she wants us to leave for Venice as soon as possible. She says she's given us enough gold with Kevin to keep us up at an Inn on the west side of the city. The owner owes the Brotherhood a favor apparently. Cas might even be there." 

Kevin raiesed his eyebrows. "You think?"

Dean nodded. "All our evidence points to La Serenissima. They might even be after the sage too."

Sam smacked his forehead with his palm. "Oh, god. They are. That's the only move that makes sense. You're coming with us, Kevin?" 

Kevin shouldered his backpack. "Well, I'm not learning a whole lot of new stuff in Monteriggioni. Jo will be just fine on her own, and the doctors in Venice were trying some interesting new cures for simple things like fevers, last I heard."

"Thrilling." Dean said, heading back to the ticket counter. "Excuse me, but we'd like to buy three tickets on your next ferry to Venice."

Sam turned back to Kevin, lowering his voice. "Uh, one other thing you might want to know about. Dean might want to tell you himself, but at the Sunken Riverboat, he said that he's-"

"-What, Is he gay or something?" Kevin asked, rooting around in his pocket.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Uh, yes. No, though. He still likes women, he just came out and said that he likes men too. Particularly Cas, I think."

"Ah. Damn, then. I owe Jo money."

Sam took a deep breath. "You guys bet on Dean's sexuality?" 

Kevin grinned. "Well, yeah. Anyone with two eyes could see how he felt about that Templar." 

"It is a little obvious in hindsight, isn't it?" Sam said with a laugh. 

"What, what's funny?" Dean said, approaching them with the ferry tickets. "Never mind, I don't really care. It's probably something nerdy. We're in luck though, nerds. Next ferry to Venice leaves in half an hour."

"That’s…oddly convenient." Sam mused.

Dean smirked, leading the two down the dock towards the ferry. "Told you we were due for a win."

The Assassins leaned against the side of the wide-decked ferry, watching the gulls circle overhead and waiting for the crewmen to drop the sails. Dean had pulled out Kevin's sketch of Cas and studied it intermittently. 

A sailor jogged by them, and Dean leaned forward, grabbing him by his tattered shirt.

Dean smiled. "Sorry to interrupt you, buddy, but I'm looking for a friend of mine. You seen this kid?" he asked, holding up the drawing of Castiel. "Oops, wrong side," He said, flipping it over. 

"Professional negotiator" Sam whispered to Kevin, and the two chuckled. The sailor looked at the drawing, his eyes widening.

"Si, Signore. Last week, raving like a madman. They had to tie him to the mast, his friends. My captain almost wanted to throw him off the boat, but the one with the long hair wouldn't let him. Said he's kill us all. I believed him, his eyes all a-fire like that."

Dean shot a look at Sam, who shrugged.

"Where was he going?" Dean asked, his patience obviously wearing thin. 

"Serenissima, Signore. They were going to Venice."

________________

 

"I'm  glad we got to see the Basilica San Marco at least," Anna said, her arm linked through Balthazar's. Cas followed a few feet behind them, running his eyes over anything that wasn't his sister. The sloping rooftops of the buildings around him, the bright red-and-white flowers spilling out of windowboxes, the loud shouts and cries of children and merchants in the streets, the movement of the mid-morning sun across the waters that made up the city's routes…every part of Venice that he saw was surging with life, moving twice as fast as normal, and four times as fast as he was.

Anna and Balthazar left him behind as he slowed, running a hand through his hair and leaning against a white-painted brick wall.

"Get it together, Castiel," he panted. "You're fine, you're fine, this is good. Anna is alive, and you are not going to mess her up."

 _Do you really believe that?_ The voice whispered. It spoke slowly, as if it were stretching after a long slumber. _Ah, that was a nice rest. How did you like my driving back there? I managed to get you out of town without killing your boyfriend._

Cas gritted his teeth, watching a group of seedy looking men in dark clothes approach the carpentry shop across the street from him.

"That won't happen again. I won't let it."

_What, to protect that sister of yours? You couldn't even fix her right the first time she almost died. You can't fight fate, Castiel, and you can't fight me._

The four men approached the older man behind the counter, flashing each other hand signs as they settled in the doorway.

_What makes you think you can do what you need to do alone? You need me, Cas. Without me, you wouldn't have been able to save your sister. Or your boyfriend, for that matter. The redheaded thief girl, even that tiny bird when you were young. You are a soldier, and I am a power. Maybe you'd like to just strip away the bad parts, the strong parts of me, to use me for healing and sidestepping disaster or what have you, but you can't._

"Can I help you boys out with anything this morning?" The carpenter's daughter said, wringing her hands. Anna and Balthazar were nowhere in sight; the few people that had been on the street had disappeared behind closed doors and down alleys. 

"You know exactly why we're here. You and the Signore are a month overdue on your payment."

The old man stepped in front of the young woman, his eyebrows knit together but his jaw set. "I told you I would have the money in three days. Please, boys, I don't have it yet, but it's on the way, I-"

The tallest one cracked his knuckles, stepping further into the carpenter's shop and out of Castiel's sight. "Luci's getting tired of waiting, Signore. You know what happens when the Demons get angry?"

Cas groaned, pushing his body off of the wall and trudging towards the altercation. He pulled his blade from the pocket of his trousers, steadying himself.

 _What are you going to do with that, Cas?_  the voice whispered. _You bleeding heart, you're going to save this little family from petty gang violence._

"Is there some sort of problem here?" Cas asked from the doorway, his voice breaking at the sight of the gang members. Tattoos snaked down from their rolled-up sleeves, winding around fisted fingers. The old man had moved to place himself between his daughter and the thugs, clutching the polished leg of a table between his shaking hands.

"Look, buddy, we were just conducting a business transaction with the De Costa's," The shortest thug said, rolling an eye around to peer at Cas. "If you come back tomorrow, I'm sure they'd be happy to have your wood worked." 

Cas twirled his blade. The thug's eyes moved to track the flash of silver. 

"This is your last warning," Cas murmured. He heard footsteps behind him; he didn't need to turn to know that Anna and Balthazar had come back to look for their lost friend, only to find him embroiled in a face-off with a gang. 

The young woman was praying, her fingers running around a few thin beads hanging out of the pocket on her apron. Her father locked eyes with Castiel, the wrinkles on his face drawn in fear. "Please, don't get involved, these people are violent."

Anna stepped up beside Castiel, an identical silver blade in her hand. She put a hand on her brother's shoulder, leveling her gaze at the thugs. "We can be pretty violent too."

The men laughed, doubling over and rubbing their eyes at the sight of little Anna squared to fight.

"Little girl--" The shorter thug said, stepping towards Anna. Cas lifted his arm, twirling his blade again, and the thug's eyes left Anna to follow the blade.

"Now," Cas breathed, and Anna lunged forward, burying her blade in the thug's chest. He gasped, clutching his chest as he fell to the ground. The elderly couple yelped and stumbled towards the back of the shop as the other three thugs pulled knives from their belts. 

Castiel spun, parrying the jabs from one of the thugs as he sank into the familiar rhythms of combat and battle. Dodge, sidestep, strike. His blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the sound of everything around him

 _See, Cas? You are a soldier, and I am a power,_  the voice murmured as his weapon sank into the thug's flesh.   _Whether you use me or not, I am still a part of you. Certain things are undeniable, like your instincts, and like me.  Like fate._

The thug Cas was fighting went down, blood pouring from a slice in his side. Castiel spun, his body ready to take on the remaining gang members.

His chest heaved as he scanned the shop, adrenaline pumping through his body. All four thugs were on the ground, dead or groaning in pain. Anna was sitting with her back against the wall, Balthazar kneeling beside her.

_Fate is undeniable._

One of the thug's knives was buried in her chest, both her hands grasping weakly at the flesh around the wound. Balthazar was shaking his head, his eyes moving from Castiel to Anna to the knife.

"Not again," Cas whispered. "Anna, no." 

He stumbled towards his sister, placing a hand on her head, smoothing her hair out of her face. Anna was gasping for breath, her face pale.

"Emmanuel…" Anna croaked, grasping at Cas' hand. "You…you're an idiot, do you know that?"

Balthazar nodded. "Don't worry, darling. He knows."

Cas sighed, grief flooding every vein in his body. "This is all my fault."

_Fate is undeniable._

"I'm going to die, at the hands of some of Lucifer's stupid gang. Unbelievable." Anna said, a pained grin on her face.

Cas narrowed his eyes. "No, you're not. This isn't fair."

 _She was living on borrowed time anyway, Castiel,_ the voice murmured, and Cas could swear he felt a hint of compassion in its voice. _She should have died when she fell off that church years ago. Her time is up._

"Fix her." Castiel growled, holding a hand out over his sister. He prodded at the voice within him, finding the knot of white-hot power within him.

_You might not like messing with fate, Castiel._

"Shut up," Cas said, letting the power flow down his arm, heating his hand. With his other hand, he grasped the hilt of the knife, pulling it swiftly out of his sister's chest. She shuddered, but didn’t scream.

Balthazar leaned forward. "Cas, can you heal her?"

Cas bit his lip, watching his palm glow as Anna's blood flowed freely from her wound. She blinked, her mouth moving but no sound coming out.

"I'll try. But Balthazar, you need to make sure I don't hurt anyone. This thing might posess me again, and I can't have anyone else getting hurt.

Balthazar nodded, putting a hand on Cas's shoulder. "Keep going."

Cas took a deep breath, meeting his sister's pained eyes.

"I'm gonna fix it Anna, okay? It won't hurt anymore," Cas murmured, his palm burning hotter, emitting a white light. Before their eyes, the skin around the knife wound began to glow. "I'm going to take care of you. Always have, and I always will. Fate can fuck right off."

Castiel's mind spun as more and more heat concentrated in his palm, which was now so bright it was blinding. Cas looked away as a final surge of power rushed through him.

_All right. You wanted free will, Castiel._

He opened his eyes, his head heavy. The gash in Anna's chest was gone, the blood that had coated her skin had vanished. The only evidence she had been injured was the narrow slash in her dress. Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing. 

"Bugger," Balthazar said  leaning forward to press a finger against Anna's neck. "She's alive, Cas."

Castiel nodded. He should have been pleased, incredibly so. His sister was alive, still, thanks to him. "Maybe I'm not so bad after all."

Balthazar chuckled, clambering to his feet and offering Castiel a hand up. "Maybe not, asshole. Next time, tell me before you get in trouble with local mobs, yeah?"

Cas grinned, blinking slowly. His head felt so heavy… so, so heavy.

 _Well, you asked for this, Castiel,_ he heard the voice say as it took control of his body. He wanted to fight it, he did, but healing Anna had burned every ounce of energy from him. _You want to fight with destiny?_

Cas saw his arm reach out for the bloody blade that he had pulled out of Anna's chest, his fingers curling around the dagger's hilt. He wanted to scream, wanted to stick the knife in between the floorboards, in between his own ribs. Anywhere but where it was headed.

 _The scales must be balanced, Castiel. If it's not Anna, it's someone else._  

Realization dawned in Balthazar's eyes as Castiel lunged forward, burying the knife in his partner's neck.

Balthazar blinked, his hands moving to cover his neck, trying to stem the flow of blood from his neck. "…Castiel."

Cas could feel himself watching Balthazar coldly, his eyes expressionless as his friend collapsed to the floor.

"…I know it's not you, Cas," Balthazar choked. "…My choice, I don't blame…" 

His words cut off with a gurgle, and Balthazar's chest heaved unevenly, before slowing to a stop.

_Free will is a length of rope, Castiel. You can tie it in as many knots as you know, but the only thing you'll end up making is a noose._

Cas could feel his eyes fluttering, his body caving in to the exhaustion of the battle and the healing.

_How many people are you going to hang with it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was brutal i am sorry


	47. What A Mess I Have Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so uh its been a lONG time for us and not long for these guys ha hA and so yeah just read it everyone's in venice now and hopefully we'll all meet up soon? who even knows whats going on anymore. Last time we were here cas had stabbed balthy and then passed out. Dean sam and Kevin were en route to venice. Everyone's looking for the sage and everything's going to hell. Whee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha WOW so its been a long time. I have no idea what I'm doing anymore. This story is so much more complicated than i ever wanted it to be and I havent even gotten to the smut it is the slowest of burns I feel so bad I'm sorry everyone. I learned this year that I have a huge problem with biting off much more than I can chew with fantastical stories like this and I apologize for how crazy this story has gotten and how long it's been since I've updated. it's been like seven months. Im so sorry. I'm going to do my best to wrangle this story under control so bear with me i have fucked this up. or if you dont bear with me i understand

If anyone had cared to look into a small woodshop on a side street in one of the quieter neighborhoods in Venice, they would have seen something very strange. If the people of venice were not so used to turning a blind eye to such unfortunate spaces, they would have seen several thuggish men, all bleeding or bleeding out on the floor of the carpentry shop. The ageing carpenters who owned the unfortunate establishment had long since fled in search of the closest guard patrol. Three Templars, people who had never been to the shop before, had been stupid enough to walk in on Lucifer’s men collecting their “safety tax”. “It was more like insurance, really,” the thugs usually claimed. “To make sure nothing bad happens to the business you have built.”

And only one of those three Templars was conscious among the sea of bodies, when a sandy-haired teenager bothered to walk down the deserted side street, a leather bag full of vials, syringes, scalpels and herbs. 

If the young man had any sense of self preservation, he might have felt inclined to leave the alley and never return to this neighborhood. But it wasn’t in his blood.

“Excuse me, are you all--Dio mio,” the young man said, ducking his head into the carpenter’s. He dropped his bag when he saw the carnage inside. “Where are the De Costa’s? What the hell happened here?”

“Please,” a woman croaked from amidst the pile of bodies, , her dress blood-soaked and torn. “We need some help.”

The young man ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, god...is anyone here still alive?”

The woman’s shaking hands were pressing a bloodied rag of what looked like a torn patch of her skirt against a man’s neck. She swallowed, her eyes panicked.

“Niccolo is losing blood, fast.” She looked a few feet away at a dark haired man who looked surprisingly woundless. “I think Emmanuel is fine.”

The young man dropped to his knees, pulling out clean gauze and gently shifting the woman’s hands from their patient’s neck. He gave a cursory inspection of the man she had called Niccolo’s vitals, finding a weak pulse in his wrist.

“You did a good job of putting pressure here, since he’s still alive. Which is incredible, based on the size of the gash in his neck here. Looks like whoever stabbed him here did a pretty crappy job of it.”

The woman sighed in relief. “Oh, thank God.”

The young man smiled at her nervously, and the momentary relief she felt at the news that her comrade was still alive died. One of the sandy-haired man’s eyes was green, the other brown. They blinked at her, reassuring. “Well, we’re not in the clear yet. We should get him stabilized and to a hospital as soon as we can. I’m Adam, by the way.”

***

Castiel dreamed. He dreamed of odd shapes, golden geometric orbs and lines passing in and out of a void of black space. Energy coursed along the lines, surging at points and traveling along and through the orbs in ways he was sure made sense, but didn’t quite understand. It reminded him of the way stars moved, how you could track them across the sky as time went on.

“Well, Cas, you finally did it.”

No. Even in his dreams he couldn’t escape the voice. With every word, a surge of energy spiked along the golden lines and orbs, glowing and fading with the volume.

“I didn’t kill Balthazar. You did. And I’m not going to be your puppet anymore. I want answers,” Castiel called into the darkness. “My best friend is dead, probably my only friend now, after what I did to the Vincense. And I deserve to know what you’ve been doing inside my head.”

The shapes surged with the answering chuckle. “Fine. All you had to do was ask.”

A figure burned into the space before him, golden particles winking into existence and gathering into the tallest man he had ever seen. He had to be at least seven feet high and was bare chested, a light-woven cape billowing behind him, though no wind passed through the dark space around them. His yellow curls were held back behind an ornate, tall crown that made the man seem even taller. A silver pin tied his cloak to his shoulders, with a large, gilded sun carved into the front of it. The figure spread his hands, a wide grin displaying his bright white teeth.

“We meet at last,” he said, blinking. The figure shimmered, as if he were a mirage.

Cas narrowed his eyes, saying nothing.

“Oh, come on Castiel. Cat got your tongue?”

Cas clenched his fists. “Why are you doing this to me?”

The figure’s hands fell to his sides, his brow furrowing. “That’s what you ask? Not, ‘what are you, you divine being,’ no question of ‘how do you look so amazing and godly’, no falling down in awe?”

“You killed my friend.” Castiel said, clenching his fists. “You made me kill Balthazar.”

“Balance, Castiel. You have saved Anna from death too many times. You cannot simply play with fate because you have my power.”

“And who are you to lecture me about fate?” Castiel growled. “I never asked for your so-called power. I never elected to share my headspace with a lunatic. For all I know, you’re a projection of my mind, and I’m mentally unstable.”

The figure shook his head. “That would be way too easy. You are not insane, unfortunately. And if I had a body of my own, believe me, I’d be in it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Castiel said, shaking his head. “How can you exist if you have no body?”

“Because I died long ago. I was once known as Apulu, but I have been called many names. Apollo, Phoebus. I was a member of the race known as the Isu, what you Templars and Assassins have called the First Civilization.”

Cas blinked. “You...you’re a god. Apollo.”

Apulu continued, his eyes roving from Castiel to the space around them. “We're not really gods. We just came before. And created the human race to be our domestic workforce and all, so it’s really not your fault that your intellects are so underdeveloped. It’s actually astounding how small your brains are, in comparison to ours.”

Castiel held up a hand, halting the figure’s rambling train of thought. 

“My apologies. This must be a lot to take in.”

He just shook his head. “That's an understatement.”

Apulu shrugged. “Well, I can’t rail against humanity too much, after all, you survived while we did not. Which is why I’m currently sharing headspace with you, my hominid friend.”

“How, exactly…” Cas interrupted, still in the midst of wrapping his head around the concept of the voice in his head belonging to a member of the First Civilization. He had heard of them from Michael and Gabriel, from the legends and stories of the Templar Order, but he had never really given much thought to the Precursor Race. Apart from the search for the Sage, and the occasional witch hunt for rumors of Pieces of Eden, he had only focused on the Order's immediate goals. 

“Those, now, those pieces were interesting to make,” Apulu said.

Cas shook his head, growling. “Stop reading my mind.”

Apulu continued, as if Castiel hadn’t interrupted him. “Those were so we could control you easier, our workforce of slaves. Things like what you call the Apple, they actually tap into a set of neurotransmitters. It’s not biblical, it’s just science.”

“What--no, just...If you’re so scientific and smart, why live inside my head? What happened to your race, your body?” Castiel asked. Questions about this ancient race bounced around his mind, but he was too angry and desperate to satisfy his curiosity.

Apulu nodded, shifting his weight from foot to foot. With each step, his image shimmered and rippled. “The key question, for you at least. The simple answer is that the Isu, what you call the First Civilization, died off. But not all of us. One of the Isu, Juno, uploaded her consciousness onto a mainframe on another continent.”

“What does that mean?”

He continued as if he hadn’t heard the Templar speak. “I do not know if that technology worked, or if she perished. But what really inspired me was what she did to her husband, Aita. She loved him, and wanted to make sure he would never die. So Juno played with the human genetic code, and as a result, Aita is reincarnated every now and then. Sometimes more than one can exist at the same time. His reincarnation is what your organization refers to as a Sage.”

Castiel filed that bit of information away to examine later, still trying to wrap his head around what was being said to him.

“This idea I could use. My sister and I found some of Juno’s research. Artume and I didn’t want to die, and our race was headed for extinction. Wars, catastrophic events, revolts among the humans. So we did what we could, trying to mimic what Juno did with Aita. Unfortunately, the sync was not as...seamless. We were not scientists, we were strategists, warriors, hunters, healers. The human genome doesn’t take well to fusion with a triple-helix specimen anyway, I’m still not entirely sure how Juno managed it with Aita.”

Castiel shook his head. He didn’t understand half of what he just heard, something about genetics and reincarnation…

“So I’m...basically a Sage, is what you’re telling me. The reason I hear your voice in my head is because of that.”

Apulu nodded, smiling wide at Castiel’s conclusion. “Precisely. If albeit a more powerful one. Perhaps that has something to do with the way our genetic material manifested…”

He trailed off, stroking his hairless chin in thought. 

“Okay, say I believe you and don’t think that this is all just a projection of my mind,” Cas said quietly.

“Pfft, please. You’re not creative enough to come up with all this,” Apulu said, adding a mumbled “Sorry” after Castiel shot him a dirty look.

“If I believe you,” Castiel continued, “Then why are the Templars and Assassins constantly searching for the sage? Why aren’t they looking for your reincarnations, if they’re so powerful?”

“I don’t claim to understand the motives of humans. I assume they want information from the Sage, to see if they can find new Pieces of Eden. That’s the only thing Aita could be useful for, as far as I know. Juno would have shared some of that information with him. If they knew I existed, they would be searching for me and you, without fail. But there has never been one like me. I have only reincarnated once, and it is here, now, in your body.”

Cas didn’t want to think about that too much. His head was already starting to hurt. “Why? Why now? Why couldn’t you screw with someone else, instead of destroying my life?”

Apulu looked away. “Because my sister Artume and I only wanted to be reincarnated together. We programmed our genetic code to only manifest in siblings.”

The black and gold world around them shimmered as Castiel’s head reeled. “So you’re telling me...Anna…”

“Your sister was meant to be Artume. But when she fell from that tower and died, any chance of Artume manifesting in your sister’s mind went out the window, pun intended. So no, your sister is not my sister. Not anymore. And I am alone.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Do you...do you expect me to feel sorry for you?”

Apulu’s eyes moved to Castiel’s, his gold irises crackling with electricity. “No, I don’t really care what you think. You’re just a vessel. And you used my power enough times to awaken me from my slumber, killing some people and healing others. I know who I am now.”

“Glad you’ve made your way through your identity crisis.”

“Looks like spending time with those Assassins has given you a bit of a sense of humor, Castiel.” 

Cas didn’t respond to that, turning instead to look over his shoulder at the dark space around them. The golden orbs and lines of energy were starting to fade.

“No.”

“I’m sorry?” Apulu said, raising an eyebrow at Castiel.

“I don’t want this--to be a sage, or whatever. You don’t have my consent. I want you gone.”

Apulu chuckled. “Well, now, should have thought of that before you went using and abusing my abilities. I’m almost fully awake now.”

“And what happens when you wake up fully?” Cas asked cautiously.

“It won’t be me who needs a body anymore. I’ll have yours. I’m not entirely sure what will happen to you, which is unfortunate, but I think it’s a necessary sacrifice.”

“Well, you can understand why I might not agree with you there.”

Apulu spread his hands. “Please. You humans are directionless without us. Look at the way you wander the planet, wasting your little lives on silly aspirations. All you do is stumble around in the dirt, with no true understanding of what your civilizations could be! If I were to fully manifest, I could advance the knowledge of humanity by centuries, if not millennia. With the aid of the Pieces of Eden, I’ll be able to help humanity band together and advance your society.”

“What you’re describing sounds an awful lot like slavery,” Castiel said with a shake of his head. “You’re speaking as if you want to help us. All you’ve ever done to me is screw me over.”

“I am telling you that I know ways to cure every disease that humanity has ever suffered. Apollo is, after all, the great healer,” Apullu said with a chuckle, adding, “and you would keep that from all of humanity. The way I helped you heal your sister, magnified by a hundred, a thousand, even. You would condemn others to lose their loved ones as you have not.”

Castiel was silent.

“No smart answer for that.”

“You’re playing with my humanity.”

Apulu laughed at that, hard. He doubled over, the glowing orbs and arches floating around them flashing with each breath. “Can you blame me?” He finally said, wiping a flashing golden tear from his eye.

Castiel shook his head. “Regardless. It’s not for me to decide who should live and who should die. But the enslavement of the human race seems like a high price to pay for a bit of good medicine.”

Apulu made a face, as if he had tasted something sour. “Well, the best medicine, really. But no matter. Soon it won’t be your choice anymore. I am nearly awake now, and your body will be mine. I’ll be able to do whatever I want, including that Assassin you’ve been running around with.”

Castiel sucked in a breath, swallowing back a lump of fear. “I won’t let that happen.”

“Remember what I said? Free will is a length of rope. You made the choice to abuse the abilities of the Isu, and you have to live with the consequences.”

“I had no idea what the consequences would be.” Castiel said, spreading his hands in supplication. “Please. I am begging you.”

Apulu closed his eyes. “I wish I could say I was sorry, Castiel. But I am sick of being dead, and I am sick of being trapped here, in your subconsciousness.”

The world around them shimmered, and Apulu’s form began to fade. He grinned.

“Looks as if you’re starting to wake. We’ll see who’s in control of the meat-suit when this is over.”

Before Cas could say anything else, the world before them blurred and, with a final surge of light, faded.

 

***

“He’s waking up. Emmanuel, can you hear us?” 

Castiel scrunched his eyes closed, his head aching. He could still see the ghosts of the golden lines and circles burnt into the backs of his eyelids, the way you can still see the outline of the sun after you look at it for too long and then close your eyes. Blurry, bent, but a reminder that you looked at something you shouldn’t have for too long.

A soft voice cut through the sound of his own blood pumping through his head.

“Emmanuel, can you hear me?”

Anna. Oh god, Anna is alive. 

“Ow.”

He opened his eyes. Castiel was on a bench in what seemed to be a cathedral, complete with soaring ceilings and stained glass windows. Wooden arches curved above his head, and newer scaffolding seemed to be holding up the building. It looked as if it was in the midst of being repaired.

A cool, soothing hand brushed his hair back, reading his temperature. “Can you hear me, Emmanuel?”

That was an unfamiliar voice. Castiel blinked, sitting up. Across from him was a young man with straw-colored hair in a brown-gray tunic.

“Where am I?”

The young man tilted his head in concern. “You’re in Venice. The Church is called Santa Fosco. It seems like you and your girlfriend here were in some sort of fight.”

Castiel shook his head. “Anna’s not my girlfriend. She’s...more like a sister to me.”

“Well, anyone who teaches Lucifer’s gang a thing or two is alright in my books. Adam Mille.” He held out his hand, which Castiel shook weakly.

Mille. This was the Sage they had been sent here to capture, to return to the Order. The reincarnated version of Aita that Apulu had just discussed with him.

And Castiel had just learned that being Apulu’s vessel made him much more valuable to the Order than Adam ever would be.

“Sorry. I’m...I’m Emmanuel.” 

Adam’s eyes looked unsettlingly familiar. One brown, one green. They flicked away from Castiel to settle on Anna, who was kneeling by another pew.

“It’s alright. The eye-thing gets a lot of people. You wouldn’t be the first to curse me to hell and back upon a glance. But how are you doing over there, Anna?”

Anna looked up from the body on the pew. “His pulse is stronger now. Whatever you did with that needle was quite risky, but I think it paid off.”

Adam nodded. “It was a method I learned from one of my professors. He studied under Leonardo di Vinci while he was in La Serenissima, and he said it was very risky. I’m glad the transfusion seemed to help Niccolo.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed. “Who’s Niccolo?”

Anna shook her head. “You must have taken a big hit to the head, Emmanuel. Niccolo, our...colleague?”

He felt his heart skip a beat. Balthazar was...alive? He remembered trying so hard not to bury his blade in his friend’s neck, remembered the gut wrenching wrongness of feeling it sink into Balthazar’s flesh. “How is he alive?”

“Anna here is a natural.” Adam said, checking Balthazar’s pulse with a finger to his neck. He looked very pale, and there was a massive lump of bandages around his neck and left shoulder. “She kept him alive until I could get you both to someplace we could do the transfusion. Then it was just a matter of keeping him from hemorrhaging.”

“We were just lucky you came along when you did. Incredibly lucky.” Anna said, jerking her chin at Adam and widening her eyes.

Adam turned away from her to fish something out of his bag on the pew beside Castiel. While his back was turned, Anna flashed him the Templar sign code for “capture”--two wrists crossed over each other, as if bound. Cas shook his head, signing back “wait”.

Anna bit her lip, glaring at him. Fine, she mouthed.

“I need to move your friend here to our institute to keep an eye on him--there is still a chance he might go into shock. I’ve never actually done a transfusion before, and I haven’t heard of a successful one before now. He’ll need to be monitored.”

“Thank you, Adam. You have no idea how grateful I am. Niccolo and I have been through a lot together.”

Adam smiled, flashing those familiar eyes again. 

“Here’s the clinic I’m working with,” He scribbled on a piece of parchment, passing it to Castiel. “I’ve sent for a couple of other students to bring a stretcher, we can move him easier that way. Come check on him tomorrow afternoon, okay?”

Anna nodded. “We will be able to compensate you for whatever the costs are.”

Adam dipped his head. “Even better.”

Anna stood up, grabbing Castiel’s arm and leading him out of the church. The oppressive heat of the Venetian afternoon had faded as the sun set, leaving a purple sky and a fading orange glow on the horizon.

“What the hell happened back there?”

Anna glared at Castiel, her brown eyes wide. Her dress was ripped in at least four different places, and she was bleeding from a cut on her cheek.

Castiel sighed. “Do you want the short version or the long version?”

“I want the truth. The full truth, Emmanuel.”

“And I can’t give that to you. Gabriel and the Florentine Order feel that it would upset you.”

“So you know who I was before? Before I lost my memory?”

Castiel shook his head. What am I going to tell her? Will she even believe me? I wouldn’t. She’ll think I’m crazy. “If you want the truth, it might take a while. Perhaps we should go for a walk.”

Anna sighed. “There’s a carnival in the city tonight. Let’s head there. We can walk and talk. But you owe me an explanation, for getting into that fight and taking care of Niccolo.”

Castiel nodded. This was not going to be an easy story to tell.

***

“Venice, huh.” Dean said, stepping off the ferry. “Smells like shit.”

“Dean, don’t say that.” Sam groaned, punching him in the shoulder. “We’re outside of Florence, please try to enjoy it a little.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a vacation.” Kevin said, stepping around the brothers. “You two lunkheads have not one, but two people to find, and I’ve got a ton of studying to do.”

Dean shook his head at his younger brother, mouthing the word nerd silently. Sam snorted, and Kevin reached back to give Sam a look.

“You okay there, Sam? Might be coming down with something.”

Dean let his eyes wander the docks while his brother assured with the medic that he was sure he was fine. Cas is here somewhere, he thought.

“All right, Kevin. Where are we headed?” Sam asked.

Kevin nodded, pulling a folded map of the city out of his robe. “We’re here, and the clinic I wanted to check out is over here. I’ve heard some of the instructors there have started doing experimental studies with things like organ transplants.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s all very legitimate.” Dean grumbled. “Pretty soon there’ll be a black market for organs.”

"I think that’s a bit extreme, Dean,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “We’ll stick with you for a bit, and get a feel for the city, Kevin. Then maybe we’ll see about getting a room for a few days.”

Sam looked to him for approval, and Dean nodded. Normally he was the one who would make those kinds of decisions, but for once, he was fine with Sam taking the lead.

“Fine by me.” Kevin said. “Let’s get moving, though. We’re losing daylight.”

The three Assassins trekked through the city, moving through crowds of merchants and shoppers, brightly-dressed musicians and dirty-looking children who looked greedily at the street food that changed hands over their heads.

“There sure are a lot of people here.” Dean grumbled as they made their way through a traffic-jammed plaza.

“It’s because of the Carnevale tonight!” A young woman in front of him said, her eyes bright. She clutched a stack colorful flyers in her arms, and batted her eyelashes at Dean. She passed him a flyer, winking. “Maybe I’ll see you there?”

“Not likely.” Dean said with a smile. “But thanks for the offer.”

She narrowed her eyes, shaking her head as she walked away to hand out more of her flyers. Maybe if Dean had met her another time, he would have sought the pretty brunette out at the festival.

Kevin read from one plastered to the wall beside them “‘Sunset to sunrise, the Dorsoduro district’. Sounds like quite the party.”

“It would be fun.” Dean said, shaking his head. “But we’ve got a job to do. Find Cas, find the sage.”

“What are we even supposed to do with the sage? Does he have any kind of special powers?” Sam asked him quietly.

Dean shrugged.”We don’t know a lot. Sages can’t do what pieces of Eden do, but I think we’re supposed to protect him from the Templars. They generally try to torture information out of these guys, to learn more about the First Civilization.”

Dean knew there was more to sages than that, but his uncle had never elaborated much on the subject of sages.

“Here we are, guys,” Kevin said, pulling the brothers down an alley. “This is the clinic.”

Dean would have admired the building more, if he hadn’t been so focused on the medics in black and red robes maneuvering a stretcher into the doorway.

“Bloody bastards, I’ve been injured! You can’t jam me through the doors like I’m a sack of meat.”

That voice was very familiar.

“Sam, is that...is that Balthazar on that stretcher?”

Sam squinted. “It is.”

“Good job, Kevin, you found us our first lead,” Dean said, clapping the teenager on the back.

“Please don’t bang my poor body into the bloody door frame, I almost died a few hours ago,” Balthazar groaned as the medical students attempted to maneuver him into the low one story building. A hand painted sign above the door read “West Venezia Medical School”.

Dean, Sam, and Kevin approached the struggling medics, and the templar’s eyes widened in recognition at the sight of the three Assassins in the street.

Balthazar sighed. “Never mind, boys. Might as well just kill me now. It’d probably be a mercy, since trouble seems to find me.”

One of the medics helping Balthazar into the hospital looked over his shoulder at whoever his patient was talking to. Dean heard Sam’s breath hitch at the sight of the young man’s eyes. One was hazel-green, the other a warm brown.

“Holy shi--” he said, blinking as Sam dug his fingers into Dean’s forearm. “That’s your…”

Sam dug his fingers deeper into Dean’s forearm. “I know,” he whispered. “And the other one’s yours.”

Kevin had stepped forward to speak with the other young man, as the brothers struggled to recover from their shock. Not only had they undoubtedly stumbled into the sage that they had come to Venice to protect, but he somehow bore an unsettling likeness to the Vincense that they had not been prepared for.

“That man on the stretcher is our friend Balthazar. Is he alright? What happened?” Kevin asked the young man.

The medic shook his head. “This gentleman’s name is Niccolo, not Balthazar. His medical history is his business, and not anyone elses.”

Dean stepped forward, clearing his throat and narrowing his eyes. “Our business is his business. So why don’t you tell us what our friend here has been getting up to?”

“I don’t think so.” The medic said, turning around and closing the door behind him. “What the--”

Sam had stuck one long leg out, wedging the door open with his foot. 

The sage looked down from Sam’s foot to Dean’s sheepish grin.

“Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot here,” Sam said, offering the sage his hand. “Sam Vincense, this is my brother Deangelo, and our friend Kevin. Kevin is studying medicine abroad and was hoping to learn from some of the Venetian doctors. He's traveled a very long way.”

“Is that so?” The sage said, shaking Sam’s hand and then Kevin’s. After a moment’s hesitation he shook Dean’s hand too. “Well, it’s always good to meet another student. I’m Adam. But how do you know Niccolo?”

“We have mutual friends,” Dean said. “We know someone old Niccolo came to Venice with. Maybe an inch or two shorter than me, dark hair, blue eyes. He’s a bit socially awkward.”

Balthazar barked a laugh from inside. “A bit. I’ll tell him you said that.”

Adam looked from his patient to the three men on his doorstep. “Do you know these men, Niccolo?”

“Let them in, doc,” Balthazar said. “Otherwise they might try to sneak in or something. They’ll end up accidentally burning down the entire city, with their track record.”

They filed into the low-ceilinged room, which was mostly filled with curtained off beds and benches. Apart from the one Balthazar had just been transferred to, two other beds were occupied in the hospital.

Adam frowned. “That doesn’t make me want to invite them in any more than I did before.”

Balthazar waved him off, and Adam walked into an adjacent room muttering about “ungrateful patients” and how his mother didn’t raise him to waste his time on people who told lies.

The Templar smiled weakly at the Assassins when the sage was out of earshot. “How’s it going, amicii?”

Kevin swallowed audibly. “You look, good, Balthazar.”

“Bullshit. I look like I almost died today, because I did.”

“Is Cas okay? What happened?” Dean asked, an icy bolt of fear hitting him.

Balthazar groaned. He moved in the bed, rolling to show them a heavily bandaged neck and shoulder. “Cas is just fine. I think, at least. He’s the one who did this to me, anyway.”

Kevin’s mouth opened in surprise. “Castiel did this to you?”

“Got me in the neck, the prick. We were facing off against some local gang, Cas got us into trouble. We were fighting them and then Anna got hurt, really bad--”

“Who’s Anna?” Dean interrupted.

“His bloody sister,” Balthazar said with a huff, then continued, “Gabriel set us up to work with her here. It was all his plan, getting us out of the Florence and to Venice, and then he drops us here and fucks off to God knows where. And poor Castiel can’t tell Anna who she is; the girl still has that amnesia. If he upsets her, she might snap. God, this is a long story.”

Sam shook his head. “Understatement.”

“Give us the abridged version, please,” Dean said.

“Fine. Cas healed Anna, smote the gang, and then buried his blade in my own bloody neck. I told him I didn’t blame him, it was that stupid thing in his head. Figured I was a goner, but I woke up and the same person that we are trying to capture, the sage is here, making sure I don’t pass out from loss of blood. Anna and Cas apparently buggered off, he doesn’t know to where. By the way, we’re using fake names, so I would appreciate if you played along with those for now.”

Adam walked back into the main room, with a towel over his shoulder and a small cup of dark liquid. “If you boys are wondering what happened to Emmanuel and Anna, they said something about walking around the Carnevale, I think.”

“That’s where?” Dean asked, eyes flicking from Balthazar to his brother to Kevin.

Adam cleared his throat as he laid a hand on Balthazar’s forehead. “Dorsoduro neighborhood. Carnevale is one of Venice’s biggest parties of the year.”

“Sorry you’re stuck here with me then, Adam.” Balthazar said with a cough. “Got any more of those painkillers?”

Adam bit his lip. “Opium isn’t to be used lightly, Niccolo.”

“Hello? Almost dead? Please, if I’m to be surrounded by these monkeys, give me the damn drugs.”

“Well, I’m going to the Carnevale,” Dean said. “I have to find Cas.”

“Emmanuel.” Balthazar reminded, knocking back the small glass of dark liquid. “They mean Emmanuel.”

“Kevin and I will stay here and keep an eye on things,” Sam said, flicking his eyes to Adam. Dean understood--they couldn’t leave the sage alone and unprotected. He nodded and turned to leave, but Balthazar cleared his throat.

“And Dean, give the poor man a break would you? I know we didn’t leave Firenze on the best of terms but he’s getting less and less stable. The last thing he needs is for his friends to turn on him when he needs us the most. Especially you.” Balthazar said from his bed. There was a surprising tenderness in the templar’s eyes.

“You got it, chief.” Dean said, waving to Kevin and Sam and casting a suspicious glance

at Adam before making his way back through the door, and out into the Venice streets, and away from all the confusion he had just been slammed with. The sage, he has our eyes, Balthazar almost died, Cas. Cas is here, He tried to kill Balthazar. He’s with his sister, who doesn’t know she’s his sister. I have to find him, I have to…

His head was starting to hurt, so he shoved back every thought that wasn’t “find Cas”. Everything else, all of it, could wait. So he quieted those racing thoughts, and made his way along the grand canal and towards the Dorsoduro neighborhood. And he only got lost a few times and ended up begging one pair of masked girls for directions to the lit streets and smoky air of the Carnevale.

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be very long. 
> 
>  
> 
> Beta'd by the stunning whaling-void.tumblr.com


End file.
